Pistol
by Gwyddhien LeFevre
Summary: Here, you will read the most daring rewrite of 'The Mummy' to have ever been written. Richard O'Connell is no longer Richard. He - well, she - is Rachael O'Connell, and nothing will ever be the same again...CHP10UP!
1. Chapter One

_a&n:__ This here is an edit/rewrite/whatever. I know I haven't updated since last year or whatever, but what I've written has been getting on my nerves a bit. Hence, rewrite! I hope this is at least a slight improvement on what used to be here. Changes won't be massive, but big enough to show a difference. I hope. Anyway, please read and leave a review! I love constructive criticism!_

_Disclaimer:__ I totally own _The Mummy_ and all things associated with it. Pay up, people!_

**PISTOL**

Chapter One

Unpleasant vibrations of charging horses thundering towards the ruins of Hamunaptra fuddled her concentration as she attempted to load her rifle. Unsuccessfully. The bullets kept slipping from her sweaty fingers so she dropped her knees and started crawling towards the battlements, trying to calm her sharp and erratic breathing that was threatening to turn into hyperventilation. Hyperventilating was a no-go zone for her at the moment; the tight cloth that was wound around her chest numerous times to hide her breasts made it twice as difficult to breathe.

God, what had she been thinking? An adventure, sure. She sniffed and slowed down her breathing to a relatively healthy pace. Well, damn adventures. Curse her and her stupid need to have an adrenalin rush. She loaded her rifle and took aim over the small rocky cover alongside countless of other Legionnaires.

Men. Hundreds of leering, over-sexed, sweaty, smelly _men_. After this, she'd be glad if she never saw another man again. And men, she considered, were complete and utter idiots. Any moron off the street could pick her for a woman. Granted, she was wearing a balaclava and didn't talk much, but for goodness' sake her figure wasn't _that_ masculine. Still, broad shoulders and small breasts worked to her advantage in this particular environment.

Droplets of sweat clung to her forehead as she tightened her hold on the rifle, and as someone crouched down beside her she almost yelled and shot _them_, until she realised it was just the weedy-looking Hungarian guy Beni Gabor who considered himself to be her best friend.

Beni didn't even glance at her, instead just shoving her arm with his pointy elbow. "Your strength gives me strength, O'Connell," he murmured weakly. O'Connell nodded weakly, turning her face away from the man. She didn't trust herself to say anything at that moment, worried that she mightn't be able to retain the male-sounding timbre she had adopted as part of her disguise for whenever she did speak.

Beni looked at her strangely when she didn't respond, but didn't say anything and took aim like O'Connell was.

The Colonel, on his horse and looking all high and mighty, broke out of his tough-guy appearance, turned his horse and around and fled to take refuge in the ruins. It was with a great deal of disbelief that O'Connell and most of the Legionnaires stared after their cowardly Colonel – some merely annoyed, and others following his suit, running away from the soon-to-be-battlefield. Watching nearly half of the Legionnaires take off after the Colonel, O'Connell was considering that perhaps they had the right idea.

"Shit," she growled, only just managing to remember to put on her male-like tone. Beni looked at her pathetically.

"You just got promoted," he said unhelpfully.

O'Connell hissed. "Steady, steady," she whispered, using her free hand to wipe the sweat away from her face. _Yeah…yeah, steady. I can do this, I can do this –_

The Tuareg army, continuously surging closer, started to scream out war cries. More Legionnaires fled.

…_I can't do this._

Beni nudged her arm. "Come on, O'Connell!" he urged. O'Connell shook her head.

"I can't do this." She took a deep breath – something that was very difficult to achieve with the cloth around her chest – and yelled, "FIRE AT WILL!"

The remaining Legionnaires fired wildly, shooting down the whole front line of the Tuareg army, but just seeing how big the army actually was told O'Connell in a second that no matter what they did, everything was useless and that she might as well turn her rifle on herself.

Beni threw a desperate glance at O'Connell and turned away to run off with some more Legionnaires who decided they didn't want to die immediately. Tripping over his feet and screaming hysterically after the other Legionnaires "_Wait for me!_" Beni soon disappeared out of sight. O'Connell gritted her teeth and turned back to cock her rifle.

"Thanks a bunch, Beni," she murmured. "Never liked him anyway…" She fired and hit a few Tuareg warriors. She wanted to run off too, but she figured that if she was going to die then she should get it over and done with. She was sick of pretending to be a guy, after all…

In a few seconds the Tuareg warriors – having the advantage of horses – leapt over the small wall that had once upon a time separated the two fighting armies. O'Connell ducked and fired again – only to discover that she had run out of ammo.

"Oh, great…"

A blade swung at her face, nearly amputating her nose. O'Connell swore roughly and ran, dropping the now-useless rifle and pulling out two pistols from her belt, firing at any Tuareg that ventured too close to her, despite her previous idea to simply die quickly. _Might as well go down fighting_, she thought grimly as her pistols clicked dry. She threw them away and grabbed her last two pistols from her back holsters and continued firing, back-pedalling into the ruins while trying not to fall over into the sand.

_Click, click._

She dropped the two pistols and ran, furiously swearing at herself. So much for 'getting death over and done with' and 'going down fighting'. She was a coward, just like the rest of them.

She didn't want to die.

O'Connell spotted Beni dashing through the ruins. So, he wasn't dead yet. She ran after him as soon as she saw him duck into an open temple doorway and start to slide shut the heavy rock-engraved door. "Beni!" she yelled, forgetting to lower her voice. "Beni, wait for me!"

She didn't like the weedy, shifty little Hungarian fellow much, but came to the conclusion that if she wanted to live through the day then she could at least _pretend_ to be his best friend. Beni glanced up at O'Connell, smirked, and continued to close the door.

_What the –?!_

"Don't you dare close that door!" she screamed, picking up speed as four Tuareg horsemen starting closing in on her. Beni ignored her. "DON'T YOU DARE CLOSE THAT DOOR!"

Beni slammed it shut.

So much for him being her 'best friend'…

She slammed her hands onto the door. "_Bastard, I'll get you for this_," she snarled viciously before running off again as the Tuareg fighters ventured a little too close for her liking. Racing through the sandy ruins, O'Connell couldn't help but think about how stupid she was being. As _if_ she could outrun four Tuareg horsemen with very sharp swords, or scimitars, or whatever the hell they were called. What was she thinking? Of _course_ this would be how she'd die – served her right, too.

Her dreaded suspicion was proven correct when she was cornered to a pillar. Defeated, O'Connell turned around and ran a hand through her boy-short hair – all part of the disguise – and bit back the urge to swear in her final minutes. Stupid men and their inane obsession with swearing, it had worn off on her. Obviously she'd been a guy for too long. Two of the four Tuaregs pointed their rifles at her, cocked and ready to fire.

She didn't want to die, but now that she was about to she found herself wishing that she had simply suffocated due to the tightness of the cloth compressing her breasts in an ungodly fashion. It would have been so much faster. A little less dignified, but definitely would have let her avoid this inevitable slaughter.

Well, there was nothing she could do about it now. She closed her eyes and waited for the shots to come and finish her off. _Hey, die with dignity, 'Richard'._

A couple of horse-sounding whines and neighs came instead, and the Tuaregs started yelling something in Arabic – O'Connell had no idea what. Listening with her eyes closed, she heard a few scuffles, roughly spoken words that she assumed to be Arabic oaths, and then…nothing.

…Still nothing.

She opened her eyes cautiously, only to be greeted to the blissful sight of no Tuaregs, and no-one trying to kill her. Releasing a whoosh of air she had no idea she was holding she turned around – only to find herself staring into the crumbling eyes of a statue that had no doubt once seen better days. She yelped and stumbled backwards into the sand, landing rather unceremoniously on her ass, still staring at the statue – no doubt some Egyptian God. A low moaning noise issued from the surrounding sand, enhancing the creepy feel to the dead silence pressing down on her.

O'Connell staggered to her feet and started to walk away, ducking underneath some sand that was behaving badly and trying to kill her –

Wait. Sand wasn't supposed to move on its own, let alone make a – _was that a face?_

Quickly realising that this was not normal behaviour for sand, O'Connell turned away and ran away. _Right…so the sand's moving on its own, everyone's dead except for me and the Tuaregs have left without taking any important artefacts from the ruins…God my life sucks. Just my luck to get caught in these 'cursed ruins'._

She snorted as she jumped over the wall to escape into the Sahara desert. _Ha. Curses. Bull-bloody-shit._

Reaching a safe distance from the ruins of Hamunaptra, she stopped and looked around in all directions. "Oh, screw this all to the torturous flames of hell," she seethed. She had escaped almost certain death only to remember that she had no food, no water, no transport, no map, no compass, no weapons, no money and no friends, stuck in the middle of the desert. "Now I'm going to _starve_ to death…or cook to death…or whatever…"

Now she _really_ wished she had suffocated. Or had been shot. _So_ much more dignified.

She focused on the horizon, trying to remember which way was towards Cairo. She knew she would never make it, but what the hell, she could bloody well try. She started to walk in the vague direction of where she assumed Cairo to be, only to freeze, experiencing the unpleasant tingling sensation that someone, or something, was watching her. She turned around, her eyes scanning the cliff, to see a group of people on horseback. Merely watching her. Not aiming with guns and not shouting out death threats. Just watching.

So, obviously, they didn't want to kill her, but it didn't look like she was going to receive any help from these silent, unresponsive and unhelpful people.

She tore her gaze from the cliff side and started to run towards the horizon, praying that somehow, someone would find her, or that she'd stumble across some conveniently placed oasis and a stray camel. And some food and maybe a bag of money.

That would be nice.

But for the moment, Rachael O'Connell was just glad to get away from the stupid Egyptian ruins. "Stupid Egypt," she muttered as she ran, trying to undo the cloth that was compressing her breasts. "Stupid men. Stupid bloody _Hamunaptra_. Why am I even _in_ Egypt?"

* * *

The dark, handsome Arab glared down warily on the Legionnaire who had escaped the ruins alive, his rifle pointed downwards and unloaded. The Med-jai warrior beside him raised his own rifle and took aim. Ardeth Bey grasped his brother's arm and shook his head.

"You do not want to kill him?"

Ardeth shook his head again. "No, Anzar. The desert will kill him."

Anzar sneered at Ardeth. "Still unwilling to kill, I see."

Ardeth did not respond to his brother's taunts, never once letting his eyes stray from the Legionnaire.


	2. Chapter Two

_Disclaimer:__ Leik i so totes dont own this plz dont sue me lol._

**PISTOL**

Chapter Two

_Three years later…_

It was gone.

In her panic, her hangover seemed to have temporarily disappeared, replaced by the dread that had seized her gut as her trembling hand furrowed around her small bag, searching desperately for the only item she possessed that might have been worth something. Her sweaty hands clutched at various items – a change purse, a tube of lipstick, a loaded pistol on safety – but couldn't find what she was looking for.

_No, no, no –_

In desperation she tipped the bag upside down on her bed, pouring out the contents. Searching through it yet again, she bit her lip and sat back.

_It's gone._

The octagonal puzzle box she had found at Hamunaptra, the only thing that might have been her salvation and quite possibly a ticket home to America, was not there.

_Oh, god…no way. It was in the bag last night –_

Last night. Her aqua-blue eyes narrowed. What had she done last night? Most of it was a complete blur, a result of too much alcohol, but something told her that she'd gone and done something stupid, as usual.

_Sitting at the local Kasbah, Rachael O'Connell sipped slowly at her water, using one hand to hold the glass and the other to get her shoulder-length hair to sit straight. _Stupid hair,_ she thought bitterly when it simply readjusted itself to its original flyaway position._ I should cut it all off.

_However tempting that notion was, however, she didn't want to walk around looking like a boy for the rest of her life. It was bad enough she pretended to be a guy in the Legion, and that had only ended in malnutrition, hallucinations and dehydration when she stumbled through Cairo three years ago after her journey through the desert._

_Stupid Legion._

_Stupid Egypt._

_Stupid everything._

_She drained her glass of water, gently placed it back down on the counter and asked for something strong. The bartender looked at her strangely, not understanding English. Since she was completely incompetent in Arabic, she merely pointed to the rack of hard liquor and started to open her small change purse to pull out a few pounds. A hand touched hers. Startled, she looked up to meet the clear blue eyes of a man. _

"_It's on me, darling," he said, his accent giving him away as being British. He looked over at the Arabic bartender and ordered, in Arabic, two shots of vodka. He took a seat next to Rachael. _

_She was unsure of how to respond to this. If the Legion had taught her one thing about men – and it had taught her a lot – it was that men only wanted two things in life: sex and food. This English guy wanted something in exchange, and since he seemed fine for food, she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. _

"_I hope you're not expecting anything in return," she said. "There are plenty of other women more than happy to entertain you." And this was true. It wasn't as though she was exclusive. Certainly attractive in her own little, less effeminate way, but nothing compared to some of the ethnic beauties who roamed Cairo._

_He chuckled and picked up his vodka. "Well…"_

_She gritted her teeth. He did want something. "Forget it, buddy," she snapped. "You get nothing from me."_

_Emphasis on 'nothing', of course. He didn't look disappointed, but that was more than likely due to his slight tipsiness. Drinking more of his vodka, he pushed the second glass towards Rachael and smiled. "If you say so, gorgeous. But the drink is still yours."_

_Rachael O'Connell stared at the vodka for a few moments before picking it up and sipping the liquid slowly. "Thanks," she murmured, "but just because I'm having this doesn't mean I'll be yours for the night. I'm not a prostitute, you know."_

_The Englishman smirked. "I know that, love. I'm not after a prostitute," he said. "Got a name?"_

"_Rachael."_

"_Rachael…?" he prompted. She ignored this._

"_And you?" she asked, even though she couldn't care at all. Women were supposed to be polite, after all. "What's your name?"_

"_Jonathan."_

_For the first time in months, she allowed a smile to touch her lips. "Jonathan…?" she prompted teasingly. Jonathan didn't ignore this like she had, grinning widely and touching her cheek gently._

"_Carnahan. Jonathan Carnahan."_

Everything after that was a mesh of images, ranging from drinking at least ten other glasses of various alcohols to having violent sex up against a wall in her shoddy apartment.

_Very_ violent sex.

Which explained why she had woken up that morning very naked, very hung over, and very sore.

Wincing as she shifted on the bed from the pain shooting up between her thighs, she bit back the tears of humiliation that burned in her eyes. Clutching her head – as her hangover had returned with a vengeance – she fell back onto the bed and hissed angrily.

* * *

Hiding in the sarcophagus with an arm around a mummy, Jonathan Carnahan fiddled anxiously with the octagonal puzzle box engraved with hieroglyphics and hieratic. A pang of guilt stabbed his gut but he just as quickly pushed it away._ She has no use for this thing…whatever it is…_

Shoving it back into his pocket, Jonathan adjusted the mummy, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on his sister. After turning the library into what now resembled a battlefield and having the curator shout angrily at her, she was no doubt coming to investigate the noise that Jonathan had purposely created. He could hear her breathing and footsteps echo through the Ramesseum, nearing his sarcophagus.

_Three…_

_Two…_

_One –_

Her high-pitched scream of horror was enough for him as he sat the mummy up, scaring the living daylights out of his poor baby sister. Unable to contain his laughter any longer, he sat up in the sarcophagus and slung an arm around the mummy's shoulders merrily as if the decomposed being was his best friend. Laughing loudly, he hardly noticed it when his sister whacked his chest, slapped his arm off the mummy and pushed it back down into its coffin.

"Have you no respect for the dead?" Evelyn Carnahan snapped angrily, a few strands of her brown frizzy hair falling out of her tight librarian bun.

"Of _course_ I do!" Jonathan exclaimed. "But sometimes, I'd rather like to join them."

"Well, I wish you'd do it sooner rather than later before you ruin my career the way you've ruined yours," she said crossly. "Now get out!" She pulled Jonathan out of the sarcophagus, and – hung over from the previous night – he staggered over the brim of it, getting one leg caught over it.

"My dear sweet baby sister," he said as Evelyn pulled him out and pushed him away from the sarcophagus before he could sustain further damage to the mummy, "I'll have you know that my career is on a high note at the moment."

Even though it wasn't, but she didn't need to know that. "High note? Don't make me laugh, Jonathan, I'm not in the mood," she said cruelly. She paused, sagged against the pillar beside Jonathan and started to wring her wrists anxiously. "I'm afraid I've just made a rather big mess in the library and the Bembridge scholars have rejected my application form again…they say that I don't have enough experience in the field."

Despite lacking a certain amount of tact, Jonathan did know when sympathy was needed. Kneeling down before his sister, he took her hands gently and smiled. "Oh, come on, old mum. You'll get in. I know you will." She probably wouldn't – because she was a woman, not because she didn't have enough experience, and the Bembridge scholars mainly consisted of old-fashioned men with ideals of male domination – but he didn't have the heart to tell her that. "Besides," he added, standing up again, this time managing to keep a proper balance, "I have just the thing to cheer you up!"

Evelyn smiled weakly and shook her head as Jonathan leaned over the edge of the sarcophagus he had been lying in previously, shifting the contents back and forth to try and find the octagonal-shaped puzzle box, forgetting that he had shoved it into his pocket. "Oh, no, Jonathan, not another worthless trinket. If I have to bring one more piece of junk to the curator to try and…sell…"

She trailed off as Jonathan, after finding it in his pocket, held it under her nose. In curiosity, Evelyn took it from Jonathan's hand gingerly, her eyes skimming over the engravings.

"Where did you get this?" she whispered, completely enamoured by the box.

Jonathan shuffled nervously and tugged at his tie. He sure as hell wasn't about to tell her that he stole it from some girl he had slept with the previous night. He could imagine the conversation almost too well for his liking.

_Jonathan: I stole it from this girl I slept with last night._

_Evelyn: JONATHAN CARNAHAN!_

Inwardly wincing at his sister's imagined rage, and quite unwilling to experience it for real, he stuttered out the first thing that came to mind: "Oh…on a dig down in…Thebes…"

He hoped she hadn't noticed he was lying.

"Evy, my whole life I've never found anything. _Please_ tell me I've found something," he said desperately. _Please don't let me have stolen this for nothing_, was what he was actually trying to say, but his guilt trip was forgotten momentarily when Evelyn's fingers found the latch on the puzzle box, making the eight triangular sections of the lid snap open, revealing an ancient but well preserved piece of papyrus.

"Jonathan?" she murmured in wonder, her fingers gently taking the edge of the folded papyrus. "I think you've found something."

* * *

"So…let me get this straight. This guy, Jonathan Carnavon –"

"_Carnahan_," Rachael stressed. "Jonathan _Carnahan_."

"Whatever," snapped the English officer as they entered the Cairo Museum of Antiquities. "This guy got you drunk, slept with you and then stole some trinket of yours."

Rachael gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, trying to refrain herself from punching the officer. He wasn't buying her tough-go attitude, nor did he seem very interested in her prized possession _or _the fact that she had practically been raped. Well, it wasn't that she _minded _the sex – from her hazy memory she deduced that she had enjoyed it – but it was the fact that the officer didn't _care_. She bit her lip, turned away to hide her tearless face, and gasped out pathetically, "It – it wasn't just _some trinket_…it was…it was my _mother's_…she gave it to me as she d-died and it's all I have left of her…p-please, Sir, I _need_ it back. It's all I have left…"

Bursting into a fake crying session, Rachael rubbed her eyes to make them red. A pity-filled silence was the only response from the officer until he patted her awkwardly on the back. "Uh…don't worry, Ma'am. I've been told that this Carnahan fellow is around here somewhere and probably hasn't left the museum yet. I'll find him for you."

Rachael sniffed and pretended to wipe the 'tears' away from her eyes. "Th-thank you, sir," she mumbled, sniffing. "I really appreciate this."

He nodded and strode purposefully into the library, Rachael following closely on behind. The two were greeted with a rather peculiar sight – all bookshelves (themselves impressively massive) had been knocked over in what appeared to be a domino-like pattern, books strewn everywhere and not a single person in sight. The officer chuckled. "Well, that's a sight you don't see every day…" Stepping over a few books, he looked over towards the archway to the Ramesseum, where two distant voices could just barely be heard.

"_High note? Don't make me laugh, Jonathan, I'm not in the mood…"_

The officer jumped over the books and over two of the fallen bookshelves, Rachael following the suit. She didn't like libraries, nor did she like books, but if that complete bastard Jonathan Carnahan was here then she was willing to do whatever it took to get her puzzle box back – even if it meant lying to an officer about its origins and tramping through a _library_, of all things.

At the archway, Rachael looked through, seeing two figured leaning against a pillar and talking as the man – currently with his back turned – seemed to be searching in the sarcophagus, finally pulling something out of his pocket and turning around.

Jonathan Carnahan.

Her puzzle box.

"_Where did you get this?"_

"_Oh…on a dig down in…Thebes…Evy, my whole life I've never found anything. Please tell me I've found something."_

"_Jonathan? I think you've found something."_

"Right," Rachael growled, pointing at the man. "That's him. There. That's Jonathan Carnahan."

The officer walked over to Jonathan, who had stood up in surprise – but as soon as he saw Rachael standing there, horror clouded his expression. "You are Jonathan Carnahan?" the officer asked.

"Y-yes…" Jonathan stammered, his eyes flicking back and forth between his sister, the puzzle box, and Rachael's furious face. Evelyn leapt up to her feet, clutching the puzzle box in one hand and the parchment in the other.

"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded. "Jonathan, what's going on?"

"Jonathan Carnahan, I'm you on the charge of theft," the officer declared, grabbing Jonathan's shirt by the cuff. "I suggest you refrain from struggling, it'll only make it harder for _you_."

Rachael stared coldly after Jonathan as the officer dragged him out of the Ramesseum, then directed her gaze to Evelyn's appalled face as soon as the two men were out of sight. "_That_," she said, snatching the puzzle box triumphantly out of Evelyn's slack hand, "is mine."


	3. Chapter Three

_Disclaimer:__ My name is Stephen Sommers. Totally. Ergo, I own. PAY UP, PEOPLE._

**PISTOL**

Chapter Three

Through the bars of the holding cell in one of the worst living hells in Cairo – the Cairo Prison – Rachael O'Connell watched a brooding Jonathan Carnahan. Completely surrounded by every low-life scumbag that could be found in Egypt, the Englishman looked incredibly out of place with his immaculately unsoiled clothing and clean-shaven face. Rachael shook her head.

"I told you, Carnahan, that you wouldn't be getting anything from me."

"You didn't have to put me in jail for it!" he exclaimed. "I was only _borrowing _it…"

"You mean you stole it?" she snapped. "After you got me drunk and slept with me? Wasn't that enough for you?"

Jonathan refused to meet her furious gaze, instead finding the filthy ground far more interesting. "Look…I'm _sorry_, all right? I was drunk too, you know…"

Rachael scoffed.

"Just…don't tell my sister, all right?"

Rachael opened her mouth to say she couldn't really care _what_ his sister thought of him when she was cut across by a stern voice: "There's no need for her to tell me, Jonathan. I just heard all of it."

The poor man – if he wasn't pale enough already – paled even further and seemed to shrink away from the bars. Evelyn Carnahan, in all her fuming glory, was _not_ one to be around when she was extremely disappointed and, dare he think it, enraged. The librarian, whose bun had since fallen out, walked right up to the bars of the holding cell and smacked them.

"You LIED to me!" she screeched, on the verge of tears. "You told me you found it on a dig down in Thebes! And now I find out that you _stole_ it from this poor woman whom you obviously took advantage of_?_" Fighting back tears and the desire to fall against the bars, Evelyn turned her face, unable to look at her brother any longer. "I can't believe you'd do such a thing," she hissed. "I _trusted_ you, Jonathan, I thought you were _better_ than that!"

Jonathan buried his head in his hands, and it was at this point that Evelyn could no longer keep back the tears. Rachael decided that perhaps her own angry rant could wait until the sister left, not cold-hearted enough to bring any more humiliation to the man who was now sitting in shame on the dirty floor of a holding cell. No-one, however, was volunteering to escort the sobbing girl out, so Rachael – sighing – approached her carefully, intent on assuring her that she didn't really mind about the sex, and that Jonathan would surely only be there for a few nights or so…

Much to her surprise, however, it was Evelyn who spoke first. "I'm so sorry," she choked out, wiping the tears away from her face. "I honestly thought Jonathan was telling me the truth…if I'd known…" She broke off and sniffed, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes in a more ladylike fashion. "The, uh, the puzzle box," she continued, glad to ignore her brother for the time being, "it had something in it."

"I didn't even know it opened," Rachael said surprised, despite having owned it for three years. "Is it worth anything? Because if it doesn't get me at least a hundred pounds, you can keep it."

Evelyn blew her nose daintily, trying to ignore her brother who was obviously eavesdropping. "Um…it was a piece of papyrus…I've dated it back to the nineteenth dynasty. It's a map. It leads to Hamunaptra –"

Rachael almost cringed at the sound of that word, quickly interrupting Evelyn with a hissing "'Shh!'" Looking around to make sure no-one else was listening, she said quietly, "You can keep it," she said hastily, standing up again and moving back. "I don't want it, just keep quiet about it."

Evelyn – and Jonathan – stared at her. "You…you _don't_ want it?" Jonathan repeated incredulously, crawling up to the bars. "Who _wouldn't_ want a map to Hamunaptra?"

"Not me."

Evelyn cleared her throat, no doubting dying to ask "Why?" but instead asking demurely, "If you don't mind me asking…but…where exactly did you come into position of the puzzle box?"

"I found it."

Evelyn looked at her expectantly.

"At…Hamunaptra. I've been there," Rachael whispered. "But for God's sake, don't say anything. I wasn't even meant to be there. Don't even _think_ about asking me how to get there," she hissed when she saw Evelyn's mouth open to ask another question, "because if you do manage to get there, you'll die."

"But –"

A door slammed somewhere, making Evelyn jump and break her train of speech. The two women smelt him before they saw him; a rotund and very Arabic man appeared before them, standing in front of Jonathan's cell. The door leading into Jonathan's cell also slammed open, allowing two very large and burly men to stride through and grasp his arms, hauling him up to his feet. Evelyn spun to face the intruder.

"Who are you? What are you doing?" she demanded.

The Arabic man turned to her. "I am the Warden," he explained, using a free hand to push away a couple of flies that insisted upon hanging around his head. "I am taking this man to the gallows to be hanged."

"_WHAT_?" was the simultaneous and horrified cry of brother and sister.

Rachael frowned at the warden. "Now, hang on just a minute," she said sternly. "All he did was steal something. That's a bit over-the-top, isn't it?"

"My dear lady," the warden said, pointing at the terrified Jonathan, "this man is nothing but a filthy criminal. This is not the first time he has been here for stealing, and after reading that he had taken advantage of a woman, I decided his fate this time would be death!"

* * *

Nearly in tears, Evelyn grasped at the warden's sleeve as Jonathan, standing in the middle of a wooden platform surrounded by hundreds of cells filled with jeering people, had a noose adjusted around his neck. "Four hundred pounds!" she cried. "I'll pay your four hundred pounds for his life!"

Rachael, having taken the other seat beside the warden – as she had been promised the best view of her perpetrator's death – watched Jonathan as he fidgeted anxiously on the platform. She was not a cruel woman. It certainly wasn't as if she _wanted_ the guy to die, especially now that his sister was bargaining for his life, but all in all it didn't really make much of a difference. She knew she should be doing something to help the ponce, but it wasn't as if he _owed_ her anything, she reminded herself firmly to push away the guilt settling in her stomach.

The warden didn't even spare a glance for Evelyn. "Proceed!" he called down to hangman, who started to tighten the noose around Jonathan's neck.

On the platform, Jonathan was sweating profusely, looking dreadfully out of place with his white suit and overall Britishness. "Any last words, pig?" snarled the hangman, obviously finding enjoyment in Jonathan's terror.

Swallowing nervously and allowing a tiny grin to flicker onto his face, Jonathan said, "Well, letting me go would be a rather nice, now that you mention it…"

The hangman looked up at the warden, shouting in Arabic across the gallows. Rachael, with her inability to understand Arabic, had no idea what was going on until the warden stood up, snapped back in Arabic then translated to English: "Of course you don't let him go!"

Rachael snorted. Evelyn, on the other hand, wasn't finding things nearly as amusing as Rachael. "_Five hundred pounds_!" she yelled. The warden put up his hand to stop the hangman from pulling the lever.

"And what else?" he asked, looking at her with a new interest. Placing a hand on her thigh, he continued lecherously, "I am a very lonely man."

Evelyn's eyes flared dangerously and she slapped his hand away. The warden flushed angrily, ignoring the jeering laughter of the prisoners, and waved his hand at the hangman, who nodded and pulled the lever. The trapdoor dropped away, and Jonathan, with nothing to support him, dropped with it, his slender body snapping when the rope went taut.

"NO!" Evelyn screamed, running over to the balcony edge to clutch it in support. Her wild eyes, glistening with tears, stared at Rachael when she turned around in horror, unable to watch her brother die. "Please,_ please _help him..." she begged, her shoulders shaking. The warden pointedly ignored the distraught girl, instead turning to Rachael, who was calming watching the scene unfold before her eyes.

"Ah, good," the warden commented to Rachael, pointing to Jonathan who was now struggling at the end of the rope, "his neck did not break. Now we get to watch him strangle to death."

Rachael sighed. "I didn't want you to _kill_ him," she murmured, also trying to ignore Evelyn's pleading and tears. Biting her lip, she glanced around. "Can someone take Miss Carnahan out of here? I really don't think she should be here for this."

The warden shrugged, chuckling as he saw Jonathan's face turn several nasty shades of red while choking and gagging at the end of the rope. "It is good for her," he said cruelly. "She needs to toughen up a bit."

Rachael did not reply to this, feeling sick at heart and sorry for the distressed girl. _Perhaps Jonathan's her only family member left…come to think of it, neither of her parents or other relatives seem to be present…_Having grown up knowing how difficult it was for an unmarried, parentless and relative-less woman, Rachael bit her lip. _I can't believe I'm doing this._ She turned to the warden. "I can afford to pay you six hundred pounds if you cut him down."

The warden stared at her. "But he is your attacker!"

"I didn't want you to kill him!"

The warden's face clouded with fury. "From you, I will accept no less than a thousand pounds!" he snapped.

Rachael grimaced. She didn't have a thousand pounds, nor did she have six hundred. The most she owned was the pitiful amount of three hundred pounds, not including her puzzle box. Jonathan looked as though he was about to die, and knowing that he couldn't hold on much longer, Rachael leant over and whispered in the warden's ear, "I know the location to Hamunaptra."

He spun around and faced her. "You lie," he challenged.

"I would never."

…Well…

"No…Jonathan…" Evelyn moaned, putting her face in her hands. Rachael raised an eyebrow.

"Well? The girl's part of my expedition team," Rachael quickly made up. "If you cut him down, I'll give you…ten percent of all our findings."

"Fifty percent."

So, he was going to be difficult. "Twenty."

"Forty."

"Thirty-five."

"Twenty-five!"

"Aha – deal!"

The warden, realising his mistake too late, grudgingly yelled out in Arabic and angrily gestured for the hangman to cut the half-dead Jonathan down. A sword slashed the rope and Jonathan crashed to the ground, shaking and gasping for air, hardly hearing the cries of protest from the hundreds of prisoners wanting to see the final moment of entertainment.

Evelyn broke down into tears. She stumbled over to Rachael and threw her arms around her tightly. "Oh, thank you, thank you," she whispered. "He's a good man, I promise you. I know he wronged you, but please, just give him a chance…"

Rachael patted her awkwardly. Evelyn pulled away from her and ran from the balcony, intent upon finding a way to get down to the gallows courtyard where Jonathan was lying on the filthy floor, still gasping for breath. As his face started to return to a normal colour, Evelyn raced onto the ground and launched herself at him, nearly suffocating him again as she hugged him tightly. She just as quickly, however, pulled back and slapped him sharply across the face, yelling, _"Don't you ever do that to me again, Jonathan Carnahan, or _I'll_ have your head on a platter!"_ then hugging him again.

Rachael walked over the edge of the balcony, looking down at Jonathan. As if feeling her penetrating eyes on him, Jonathan's gaze moved upwards to meet Rachael's stern, unimpressed one. He didn't smile, but he didn't look away either. Rachael sighed.

Hamunaptra.

Dear God, her and her saving-people thing. It was going to get her into trouble one day.


	4. Chapter Four

_Disclaimer:__ See this? All of it? Yeah, well, I own it. I'm making a mint outta this, W00T!_

**PISTOL**

Chapter Four

"I still can't believe you'd _do_ such a thing, Jonathan…"

Jonathan winced again and looked away from his sister's disappointed gaze. "Evy, I said I was sorry," he repeated for the umpteenth time, fiddling nervously with his tie and shifting uneasily on the spot. Evelyn sighed and shook her head.

"_Sorry_ doesn't excuse your appalling behaviour, Jonathan. I don't think you'll ever be able to know just how incredibly ashamed I am with you. Honestly, that poor woman…_what_ she must think of us…" Evelyn trailed off, suddenly looking worried. "Do you think she'll turn up? Though I can't say I'll blame her if she doesn't…" Directing her glare to Jonathan – who was finding the ground extraordinarily interesting – she shook her head again but refrained from launching into another lecture.

A few agonisingly slow minutes took their toll on Evelyn and Jonathan, and with every nerve-racking second that ticked by she just became more and more restless, fidgeting with her luggage and readjusting her hat. Evelyn cast her worried gaze over the port, searching for Rachael, and bit her lip when she couldn't find her.

"Oh, I _do_ hope she turns up," she said, wringing her wrists anxiously.

"She will," Jonathan said. "She saved me, didn't she? Obviously she intends to go through with helping us –"

Evelyn rounded on Jonathan angrily. "She only saved you because she pitied me!" she snapped. "I'm sure she would have been more than happy enough to let you die!"

"I'm not _that_ cold-hearted…"

Evelyn spun around quickly and Jonathan averted his eyes again to the ground. "Oh! Um…hello…" Evelyn stammered, fighting down the flush of pure embarrassment that had crept up onto her face. "You came."

Rachael ran a hand through her light brown flyaway hair and shrugged. "Yeah, I came. I figured things would look a little suspicious to that warden fellow if I didn't show up to lead my little 'expedition team'. Besides," she added, shooting a dark look at the cowering Jonathan, "someone has a life debt that they need to repay."

Jonathan visibly flinched.

Rachael looked back at Evelyn. "I don't believe we've properly met," she said, holding out her hand. "My name is Rachael O'Connell."

Evelyn took the outstretched hand and shook it gently. "It's nice to meet you Miss O'Connell, under better circumstances. I am Evelyn Carnahan, and you've already…uh…met my brother."

Rachael shot another dark glance at Jonathan. "Yes," she icily, "I believe I have."

Jonathan didn't respond to this.

Rachael looked back at Evelyn and allowed a small smile that didn't reach her eyes linger on her lips. She shifted the gunny-sack on her shoulder and gestured towards the cruise ship. "Shall we?"

"Oh, um, Miss O'Connell?" Evelyn said, stopping Rachael. "Can…can you assure me that this isn't some sort of…poor jest? Because if it is –"

Rachael made Evelyn break off with a single look. "Miss Carnahan, three years ago, my Colonel found a map in an ancient fortress, and the whole Legion believed in that stupid godforsaken city so damn much that, without orders, we marched halfway across Libya and into Egypt to find it. Oh, we found it," Rachael added, seeing Evelyn's doubt, "but do you want to know what else we found?"

"What?" Evelyn whispered, looking excited.

Rachael leant in close to Evelyn and whispered in her ear chillingly, "I saw my entire garrison get wiped out before my eyes."

Jonathan frowned. "What were you doing with the Legion?" he asked suspiciously. Rachael moved back from a stunned Evelyn and directed her cold gaze to him.

"If I wanted you to know, I'd have told you."

Rachael looked back at Evelyn when she was cut off by the warden Hassan pushing through the small group. "A bright good morning to all," Hassan said to the three, grinning merrily. Rachael, Jonathan and Evelyn moved back from him once finding that it was almost impossible to breathe while inhaling the putrid stench of the Arabic warden.

"Oh, no, what are _you_ doing here?" Evelyn groaned, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"I have come to protect my investment, thank you very much," he said, turning away to shuffle up the plank, struggling with two large suitcases. Rachael sighed and shook her head.

"Great…"

* * *

As the night fell and the cruise ship had set sail along the Nile, Jonathan stared at the cards in his hands with concentration. He wasn't doing very well, losing badly to three American men who were also on board the ship who knew how to play very well. He looked up for the first time in ages when he heard Henderson speak up.

"O'Connell! Hey, we could use another player. Burns here isn't playing his cards…"

Rachael stood before them, her arms crossed in front of her body and eyeing the game with faint amusement. Burns wiped his glasses with a small cloth and made an indignant noise. "Now, see here, Henderson, I can't very well play if I can't see what I'm doing."

"Just stop cleaning them and put your damn glasses on, would you! They're not dirty!"

Rachael raised an eyebrow. "I don't gamble," she said.

"Aw, come on, who doesn't gamble?" Daniels asked.

"Me."

Daniels grinned. "All right then, lass. How 'bout you just sit down with us and I'll buy you a drink, hey?"

Rachael made no move to comply, instead smiling innocently and moving her head to one side and tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. "You know, the last man who bought me a drink ended up dangling at the end of a rope in the gallows."

Daniels paled and Jonathan flinched, touching a hand to his throat. Rachael noticed this and grinned nastily at him, making Jonathan lean back in his chair as if to get away from her. Henderson laughed, oblivious to the interaction between the two. "I like you, O'Connell. Tell you what, what if I was to wager five hundred dollars says we get to Hamunaptra before you?"

Rachael blinked coolly and tightened her grip on the gunny-sack. "And who says that I'm going to Hamunaptra?"

All three Americans pointed at Jonathan, simultaneously saying, "He did."

Rachael glowered down at Jonathan, who smiled timidly and shrunk down further – if possible – into his chair. Rachael walked around as if to peek at Jonathan's cards. She clapped a hand on his shoulder. Bending down close to his ear, she asked, "Did he, now?" in a tone that clearly suggested she actually meant _we're going to talk about this later_. She straightened up again and let go of Jonathan's shoulder, which had tensed up with fear. "Well, in that case, you're on."

"What makes you so confident?" Burns asked, putting on his glasses.

"What makes you?"

Henderson grinned. "We got us a man who's actually been there," he taunted. Rachael shared a glance with Jonathan to hide her dismay, also warning him not to say a word about her involvement in Hamunaptra's location.

"I…see," she said slowly, her eyes gradually travelling over all three Americans. "Well, it was nice talking to you, _boys_. Have fun with your game."

* * *

"Hey."

Evelyn looked up at Rachael in surprise and smiled. "Hello," she returned. She gestured at the opposite chair across the small table and Rachael sat down, throwing her gunny-sack on the table with a loud thump and rolling it open to reveal more weapons that Evelyn had ever seen in her life put together. Staring at the revolvers and pistols, she absently picked one up and looked over it in awe.

"Your brother is a moron," Rachael said moodily, picking up a rifle and loading it. Evelyn nodded.

"Yes, he can be like that, I'm afraid," she sighed. "What did he do this time?"

Rachael put down the rifle. "He went and told the entire boat we're heading to Hamunaptra," she said. Evelyn sighed and handed the gun back over to Rachael.

"He's a bit of a chatterbox, I'm afraid."

Rachael snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "Don't you think that's a bit of an understatement?"

"Possibly." Evelyn ran her hands over the carefully wrapped sticks of dynamite. "Umm…Miss O'Connell…did I miss something? Are we going into battle?"

"Remember what I told you before?" Rachael murmured. "The last time I went to that place, everyone I was with was killed."

Evelyn's hands jumped away from the weapons as if they were contaminated. "Speaking of which, you mentioned you were in the Legion. I didn't think women were allowed to –"

"They're not. I disguised myself as a man and fought with the Legion for a year. I was second to the Colonel."

"And no-one –"

"Nope," Rachael said, smirking. "No-one realised that I'm a girl. It was quite funny, really."

Evelyn smiled. "I'll take your word on that." She paused, licked her lips and said timidly, "If…if you don't mind me asking, but what were you doing disguised as a man in the Legion?"

Rachael shifted in her chair. "It was something different. An adventure. Ever wanted an adrenalin rush?"

Evelyn sheepishly shook her head.

"Well, I'm addicted to that sort of stuff. I mean, it all went down the toilet towards the end, but it was exciting, you know? Just the thrill of doing something new, something forbidden." She picked up the sticks of dynamite, counting them carefully. "There's something out there," she said, changing the subject. "Underneath that sand. Something…_evil_."

Her voice had dropped to a stage whisper and her aqua-blue eyes had widened. Evelyn stared at Rachael for a few moments before smiling and deciding, "You're only trying to scare me, aren't you?"

Rachael's shoulders dropped as she chuckled. "Yeah. Didn't work, did it?"

"I don't believe in fairytales and hokum, Miss O'Connell, but I do believe that one of the famous books in history is buried out there," Evelyn said. Rachael raised her eyebrows, so Evelyn evaluated. "The Book of the Living. It's what first interested me in Egypt as a child. It's the reason I so desperately want to go to Hamunaptra. Sort of a…life's pursuit, I suppose." She smiled cheekily. "Jonathan thinks there's treasure."

"That's what I'm hoping for, too," Rachael informed her. "I didn't get to search for anything because the Tuaregs attacked, but I'm pretty sure that if I look there's bound to be something there…and since you brought up the Book of the Living, does that fact that it's made out of pure gold hold _any_ of your interest?"

Evelyn shook her head. "I'm a scholar, Miss O'Connell, not a treasure hunter. But it's good to see that you know your history."

Rachael pulled out her personal pistol and started to load it. "I don't, actually," she said. "Treasure is far more exciting."

Evelyn didn't personally agree but didn't say anything to this, instead asking the question that had been lingering on her mind for quite a while. "By the way, Miss O'Connell…why did you save my brother?"

Rachael watched the eerie calm of the Nile, her eyes fazing over a little. "As I said, I'm not heartless. All he really did was steal something from me, and, well, I might have felt a little story for you," she said. "I know what it's like to be on your own. It's horrible. Look, he might've gotten me drunk and stolen my puzzle box, but I wasn't really complaining about the rest of the night."

Evelyn looked confused until Rachael gave her the _look_.

Realisation set in and her mouth formed a perfect 'O', her face turning red at the very _idea_ of…well…_Jonathan_ and…_oh, gross_. Evelyn shuddered, suddenly finding the lantern above them far more interesting and fighting the urge to cover her face with her hands. Rachael laughed quietly. "Sorry. I bet you didn't need that picture."

Evelyn shook her head.

"You've never been intimate with a man, have you?"

Evelyn shook her head again, still blushing very hard. She fiddled with the locket nestled around her neck. "Look," she quickly said, "I should be getting back to my cabin now. It's late."

Rachael nodded as Evelyn stood up, but stopped her when a thought came to mind. "Miss Carnahan – did you happen to tell anyone about the puzzle box and the map?"

Evelyn froze. "Why? Shouldn't I have?"

Rachael winced. "Well, depending on who you told, maybe. The location of Hamunaptra is not information you want to be spreading freely, and who knows who might attack you because of your possession of the map these days…"

"I said something about it to Mister Terrence Bey, the curator at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities, but I didn't really say much. I just mentioned that I had a map to Hamunaptra and that I'd seen some sort of puzzle box with eight sides…nothing much, really. I was in a bit of hurry after Jonathan, see…"

Rachael relaxed, sliding one hand into her pocket to grip the puzzle box tightly. "I suppose that's all right. You trust him, then?"

"Oh, goodness yes. He was on very good terms with my parents before they –" She broke off and snapped her mouth shut. Rachael didn't press her for more information, guessing that the subject was tender for her. Evelyn cleared her throat and moved away from the small table. "Well, goodnight, Miss O'Connell. I shall see you in the morning."

With an amused 'G'night' in return, Rachael watched as Evelyn practically fled the scene to her cabin.


	5. Chapter Five

_Disclaimer: HEAR ME, MORTALS, IT IS I STEPHEN SOMMERS. I SHALL SUE YOU ALL._

**PISTOL**

Chapter Five

If he was losing badly before, he was now doing even worse. Having lost close to forty pounds to each of the three Americans, Jonathan was ready to call it quits and shoved his now quite empty wallet deep into his pocket, sighing heavily and throwing down his playing cards. Henderson snorted. "What, giving up, Carnahan?"

Instead of swiping up his cards again and retorting with his usual outraged 'certainly not!' Jonathan leaned back in his chair and nodded. "You've rendered me broke, chaps," he lied easily. He was nothing of the sort – he still had four hundred pounds sitting happily and safely in his bank account back in England. Well, all right, it was _Evelyn's_ money, but still. Normally he would have been gambling on until he really was broke; he was just unwilling to face his sister's disappointment yet again. It wasn't as though his pride could take much more battering anyway, so it didn't really matter if he went on until he was broke, though he had a sneaking suspicion that he would need that money later on. Just in case.

Daniels snorted. "You're not broke, Carnahan! You've still got your sister to give away, haven't you?"

Jonathan stood up abruptly, his previously passive and defeated face now etched with utter rage. "_Don't_," he snarled, "talk about my sister that way."

Daniels looked shocked at Jonathan's unexpected reaction and shrugged sheepishly. "All right, Carnahan," he rectified, "I was just joking."

Burns chuckled and pulled off his glasses to wipe them again, despite them already being immaculately clean. Henderson punched Daniels lightly in the arm, shuffling the deck of cards again. "She's a librarian, Daniels. She might as well be a nun. You wouldn't want her anyways."

"I thought I _said_ –"

"– Not to talk about her that way, we heard," Henderson said carelessly, chuckling at Jonathan's outraged face, "but I was just saying…"

"Well _don't_," Jonathan growled, his hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly in his anger that his knuckles had started to turn white. "I may gamble a lot of things, but sister is not one of them."

Henderson elbowed Jonathan. "Chill out, dude. We get it. Don't we, fellas?"

Burns and Daniels responded with two grunts.

"See?"

Jonathan's hands relaxed on the table and dropped into his lap, the circulation flooding back to his knuckles and fingers. Massaging his sore hands, he sat back in his chair and stared out at the passing bank as the boat floated down along the Nile, getting lost in the moment and completely oblivious to the mindless chatter of the three Americans. Nothing he did these days seemed to be casting a positive light on him. It seemed that everything he did just made Evelyn more and more disappointed of him, to the point where she could hardly look at him out of pure shame. She was ashamed of him, and the worst part was that he knew exactly why.

He had brought it upon himself, he admitted that. He found himself regretting the moment he had set eyes on Rachael, sitting at the counter in a bar, drinking water then attempting to order a stronger drink to an obviously English-incompetent bartender. She wasn't beautiful but she did have a peculiar, not-so-feminine attractiveness about her, and yes, he had wanted her, there and then. Things had just…backfired on him, that was all. He didn't really want to get her drunk, and he hadn't really meant to take her like that, but when he saw the puzzle box sprawled with the other contents of her bag on the floor, things started going downhill.

Jonathan sighed again. Rachael didn't appear to be upset about their little encounter – she had him thrown in prison for stealing her puzzle box, not for sleeping with her, after all.

"Carnahan?"

Someone had started to wave a hand in front of his face. Jonathan blinked and focused on Henderson. "What?"

Henderson smirked. "You've slept with her, haven't you?"

Jonathan frowned. "With who?"

Daniels sat forwards. "O'Connell, you dweeb."

Jonathan swiftly averted his gaze and said softly, "That obvious, is it?"

Burns laughed and Henderson pulled up a chair beside Jonathan. "We all saw the way you looked at her when she gave you a verbal beating earlier. You could hardly keep your eyes off her, and just now you went off to fairyland. I'm more than willing to bet that it was her on your mind. Don't blame you, 'course. She's a very alluring woman."

"Very cold," Burns added.

"Very feisty," Daniels corrected. "She must've been good. Was she?"

Jonathan glared at him. "Even if she was, what makes you think I'd tell you?"

"Well she clearly was, otherwise you wouldn't care so much."

"Who says I care?"

All three Americans cracked up with laughter. Daniels slapped him on the back heartily, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "You're funny, Carnahan."

"I think he's bein' serious, fellas."

Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest and opened his mouth to speak, but Henderson cut across him. "Jesus, you're right, Burns, he is serious…" he said, noting Jonathan's crossed arms and defensive nature. "What, you gonna tell us to stay away from her as well?"

"Possibly," Jonathan said shortly, his brow furrowing in a deep frown.

Daniels shook his head. "She ain't yours, Carnahan. You have the right to tell us to keep away from your sister, but you've got no hold over O'Connell. Just 'cause you slept with her don't mean you own her."

"She hates your guts, anyways," Burns added unhelpfully.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed and he stood up again. "And I don't suppose you'd want to tell me why she'd even look at any of you?"

Henderson stood up and faced Jonathan squarely. "For one, we're her countrymen, therefore more appealing to her. Second, all of us are better lookin' than you. Third, remember the Great War? Our uniforms are better than yours; we're better fighters than you pommies…" Henderson paused here to add drama, grinned and poked Jonathan in the chest with every word. "And we saved your British arses."

Jonathan smacked Henderson's hand away, ignoring the loud guffaws issuing from Daniels and Burns.

"I think the question," Henderson said as he sat back down, "is not why she'd want to look at us three. The question is why she would even look at _you_. Which makes me wonder how you got her to the bed." He snorted. "Probably has something to do with her hating you, right?"

"That, Henderson, is none of business," Jonathan said coldly, hiding the fact that the truthful words had cut deeply.

Daniels hit Jonathan lightly on the arm. "Then stop acting like she's yours," he said, reaching for the deck of cards again as Burns pulled off his glasses to clean them once more. "I don't see your name on her."

Jonathan smiled. "Funny that. I didn't see yours anywhere either."

A shocked silence greeted him. Using this to his advantage, Jonathan mock-bowed to the three stunned Americans and walked off, heading towards Evelyn's cabin to wish her a 'goodnight'. His departure was punctuated by Burns' loud exclamation of, "He has got a sense of humour!"

* * *

She stared calmly at the rippling water glimmered with the reflection of the hundreds of stars shining in the night sky. At a first glance it appeared that she was entranced by the serenity of the moment. At a closer look, she could be seen yawning. It made sense, considering she didn't appreciate the tranquillity, nor could she even give a damn about it.

A hand tapped her shoulder. Fighting the urge to tell the person to leave her alone in less polite words, she turned around.

Her jaw dropped.

Beni Gabor, the little Hungarian man who had left her – or rather, 'Richard' O'Connell – to die in Hamunaptra, was standing before her, still looking as weedy and shifty as the day she last saw him three years previously. She stood up sharply, her chair scraping backwards nastily on the floor, and glared at him.

"_You._"

Beni looked puzzled. "Have we met?"

Realisation set in a few moments after Beni said this. Rachael's glare softened to falsely pleasant facial expression. Of course he didn't know her. She had never met him as a woman. He only knew 'Richard' O'Connell of the French Foreign Legion, not Rachael O'Connell of…well…nothing. "Oh, um, yes. Yes we have." She moved around the table to sling her arm around Beni's shoulders as if they were the best of friends.

Only slightly ironic, of course.

"Are you the girl I slept with a few months ago and left without paying?"

Rachael raised an eyebrow. "No."

Beni relaxed and shot her a cheesy and very fake smile. "That is good to hear. I wouldn't want to run into her again. But that is not why I came to talk to you, Miss. I couldn't but help overhear your conversation with the other young lady…you said you were with the Legion at Hamunaptra. Forgive me, but I think I'd remember _you_ if you were there…"

_You mean you were eavesdropping, you little weed_. Rachael shook her head, hiding her dismay. She wanted to do nothing more than to tell him that _she_ was Richard O'Connell, and that most definitely had not forgotten that he'd abandoned her at those godforsaken ruins. But Rachael O'Connell was smarter than that, and instead said, "Oh, no, you must have misheard. It was my brother who was at Hamunaptra. I met you once, briefly, long time ago."

Beni moved his head to one side. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage, Miss. You know my name, but I am unable to recall yours…although…"

No doubt he could see a resemblance to…say…Richard O'Connell, but Rachael wasn't going to reveal that just yet. Ignoring his unsubtle attempt at finding out her name, she said, "So you must be the one leading the Americans." She grinned suddenly. "What's your scam? Gonna leave them in the middle of the desert and take off with the payment, I suppose?"

Beni shook his head sadly, still gazing at Rachael with a funny expression. "No…these Americans are smart. They only pay me half now, half when I get back them back to Cairo safely, so I have to go all the way."

Rachael patted his back 'sympathetically'. "I'm sorry to hear that, Beni."

Beni frowned at Rachael and looked closely at her eyes. "Who are you?"

Rachael shrugged. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. It was a while ago now, wasn't it? Well, you must have known my brother. Richard O'Connell?"

"O-O'Connell?" Beni stammered, his eyes flicking wildly over her face. "Y-you're O'Connell's sister?"

"The one and only," she said, grinning. This was too funny for her; she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. "Though I haven't seen Rick for years now. He never came back from Hamunaptra. He's probably dead, now, but I'm going to Hamunaptra anyway. Maybe I can find his remains." She let her eyes glisten with false tears and she lowered her gaze. "How did you escape, Beni? Did you see Rick there? What happened to him?"

She could just about feel the Hungarian squirming from the weight of her questions, and knew that he was either going to find an excuse to get away from her or spin some wild tale about how he bravely defied the Tuaregs until the end, holding 'Rick' as he struggled with his last breath.

But Beni, ever the coward, shook his head and mumbled some excuse about needing to talk with the Americans, and fled. "Sure, Beni, sure," she muttered to herself. She turned around – only to come face-to-face with none other than Jonathan Carnahan. She groaned. "What do you want now?"

The Englishman raised his eyebrow in amusement. "Your poor dead brother Richard O'Connell?"

Sheepishly, she shrugged. "It's believable enough. But for the record, Carnahan, I don't appreciate you eavesdropping like that. I may have saved your life, but that's as far as I'm willing to extend any form of tolerance with you. Got it?"

"Now see here, love –"

"Shh!"

Rachael had frozen to the spot, listening to something. Jonathan fell silent, listening as well. "I can't –"

"Be quiet!"

She spun around sharply, smacking Jonathan in the chest with her gunny-sack. He staggered backwards a little and clutched his ribs. "Now, really," he wheezed, "wasn't strangulation enough of a punishment?"

"Carnahan, keep your gob shut!"

She grabbed his collar and jerked him forwards, pointing at a set of wet footprints leading right through the boat. The two shared a glance, and a moment later a muffled scream issued from one of the nearby cabins. A scream that sounded incredibly like –

"Evy," Jonathan breathed. Rachael let go of his collar and grabbed his wrist instead, hurtling him forwards alongside her as she ran through the barge, following the soggy footprints that led all the way to Evelyn's room.

"Take this and stay close," Rachael murmured, thrusting a pistol into Jonathan's empty hands. Jonathan fumbled with the weapon until he found a good hold on it, ignoring Rachael's patronising gaze as they leant against the wall next to Evelyn's cabin. Rachael grasped the doorknob and pointed her pistol around the room.

The sight which greeted the two was not a pleasant one: Evelyn was now being held like a human shield before a hook-handed, unattractive man with strange Arabic and hieratic tattoos across his forehead and on his cheeks. His sharp, serrated hook was digging into Evelyn's neck and had drawn a few drops of blood, and he was pointing a rifle at the two who had just burst into the room.

Rachael stared at the scene and blinked. "Umm…"

A candle on the small coffee table flickered.

The wooden shutters were thrown open and a man – almost identical to Evelyn's attacker – leant through the window and started firing wildly at Jonathan and Rachael. Rachael returned the fire, ducking as woodchips blasted off the wall next to her head, and started shooting at him. It was Jonathan, however, who delivered the fatal shot, putting a bullet directly through the man's neck.

Unfortunately for the people in the room, Jonathan's firing also managed to strike a lantern hanging above a couch, causing the glass to shatter and the oil that was used to keep the flame burning splattered everywhere. The lantern had fallen, and had now set light to the couch and the carpet.

Evelyn used the distraction to her advantage and grabbed the candle off the table, jamming it backwards over her shoulder and right into the hook-handed man's right eye. He responded to this with a typical human reaction: a high-pitched scream of utter agony. Using his hand to clutch his face as he moaned in pain, Evelyn pushed away his hook-hand and hurried over to Rachael and Jonathan, who were both yelling for her to get over to the door. As soon as Evelyn was out of the room, she yelped and turned back.

"The map!" she wailed. "We need the map!"

Rachael grabbed her arm and yanked her back around forcefully. "Relax, I'm the map." She tapped her forehead. "It's all up here."

Jonathan scurried after his sister and Rachael. "Oh, that's bloody well comforting," he muttered. The three rounded the corner, welcomed by the sight of a burning boat. Someone had set fire to the haystack, a very unwise move on their part, and the horses had been released as well. Rachael took a step forwards but was forced to jump backwards when a bullet smacked into the wooden frame right next to her head.

"Fuck me sideways!" she swore, pushing Jonathan and Evelyn back around the corner.

"Well, I've a feeling that would be mightily uncomfortable, but I'm always up for trying new things –"

Evelyn slapped Jonathan on the side of his head to make him shut up. Rachael pulled out some bullets, pretending she hadn't heard Jonathan, and started to reload her empty pistol, either not noticing or purposely disregarding the shots that struck the wooden wall move closer and closer to her head.

"Rachael!" Jonathan cried, throwing a hand around her waist and pulling her backwards towards him when a bullet hit the wooden wall exactly where Rachael was standing had Jonathan not acted so quickly. Rachael stared at him and pushed his arm off, pulling out a second pistol and cocking them both.

"Stay behind me," she ordered the two, and jolted from the cover with the two siblings ducking behind her as they ran. She fired at the man with black robes and tattoos, striking true. His head snapped backwards from the force of a bullet entering his skull and fell from the platform, his rifle tumbling out of his hands.

The three stopped at the edge of the barge, completely surrounded by flames. Rachael glanced over to the water and bit her lip. Facing Evelyn and Jonathan, she asked, "Can you two swim?"

"Well, of course I can swim, if the occasion calls for it!" Evelyn cried.

"Trust me," Rachael said, pushing Evelyn backwards over the side of the boat, ignoring her scream of protest, "the occasion calls for it."

Jonathan watched Evelyn fall into the water and start to swim away from the flaming ship, then turned back and faced Rachael.

"What are you waiting for, an invitation? I'm not pushing you over! You can do it yourself!"

Jonathan grumbled and leapt over the edge, diving into the water below. Rachael started to climb over the edge but was stopped by Gad Hassan, who had scampered over to her in his panic.

"O'Connell, what do we do? What do we do?" he yelled, jumping around in fear, his little pig eyes darting around madly.

Rachael gestured for him to calm down. "Stay here," she ordered. "I'll go get help."

She flung herself over the edge.

Hassan stood in the spot eagerly for a few moments until he realised what she had said. Scowling and swearing, Hassan turned around and heaved his heavy body over the edge of the boat.

* * *

The four waded out of the water weakly. Evelyn's nightgown, which was transparent enough as it was, now looked almost totally see-through from the water and clung to her body very tightly. Rachael immediately shrugged off her jacket and threw it over Evelyn's shivering shoulders.

"We've lost everything," Evelyn moaned, clutching the jacket in relief. "All my clothes, my tools, my books…"

Rachael turned around, ignoring both Hassan and Jonathan, watching with cold, glaring eyes as everyone else who was aboard the boat, including the three Americans, were getting out of the water on the opposite bank of the river.

"Oh, damn it all, the Americans have all the horses!" Jonathan groaned.

Rachael smirked as she heard Evelyn's hiss of annoyance. "I wouldn't worry too much about that," Rachael said, keeping her eyes on the weedy Hungarian. At Jonathan's questioning glance and Evelyn's scepticism, she continued with a grin, "You see, they're on the wrong side of the river."

It was at this point that she could see Beni's face fall when he looked up at the stars for direction, then back at the Nile. Spotting the four sopping wet sorry excuse for an expedition team, he kicked the water furiously and started cursing loudly, his sounds carrying across the river as the flaming barge slowly sunk into the depths of the Nile. The fire, doused in the cold water, disappeared and the vicinity was plunged into darkness – a darkness which settled over everyone on both sides of the river chillingly.

Evelyn shivered, despite having the warmth of Rachael's jacket around her shoulders, and looked up at the night sky. It was a new moon, and the only light they possessed was the faint, glimmering light of the stars.


	6. Chapter Six

_Disclaimer: How DARE you insinuate this does not belong to me. Huff._

**PISTOL**

Chapter Six

"_Four! I only want four, not the whole bloody lot!_"

Chuckling, Rachael peeked out of the tent where she and Evelyn were getting changed to spy on Jonathan, who was bartering in very poor Arabic with a camel trader at a trading post. Throwing his arms up in exasperation, Jonathan opened Evelyn's purse and pulled out some money, thrusting it at the Arabic trader.

"_Can't believe the price of these fleabags…Oh, yes, _now_ you're happy, aren't you? Glad you got your money…"_

"Are we ready?" Evelyn said, standing beside Rachael. Rachael looked at her and smiled.

"You look lovely."

If she was surprised that Rachael had actually paid a compliment, let alone completely sincerely, Evelyn didn't let it show, instead only fingering her veil and blushing, and gently took Rachael elbow to lead her outside the tent to where Jonathan and Hassan were waiting for them. "So do you," Evelyn returned, gesturing to Rachael's identical black and sequined Bedouin outfit. "I'm glad I convince you to get one."

Rachael shifted uncomfortably in the clothes, hiding her discomfort. This was the first time in nearly three years she had specifically worn _female_ clothes, having always leant towards the option of dressing for comfort and not for style. Drawing closer to Jonathan and Hassan, the two women managed to catch part of their conversation:

"_We could've had them for free…all we had to do was give him O'Connell."_

Evelyn covered her face with her hands in utter embarrassment at her brother's statement, but Rachael bit down on her lower lip to stop herself from laughing. "How considerate of him," she murmured to the mortified librarian.

Evelyn, still covering her face with her hands, groaned weakly.

"_Dreadfully tempting, was it not?"_ was Hassan's short reply.

Jonathan nodded, finally looking up to see his sister and the subject of discussion. His blue eyes froze on the furious Rachael, his mouth dropping open to gape incredulously. "D-dreadfully," he whispered. Whether it was from intimidation and fear of being caught out, or pure awe at what she was wearing, Rachael didn't care.

Feeling oddly flattered by Jonathan's inability to speak, Rachael only hid a grin, raised an eyebrow, and took a camel's rein from Jonathan's slack hand.

* * *

Droplets of sweat glistened on Rachael's forehead as the four travelled slowly on their camels into the middle of an endless, sunbaked Sahara desert. With the sun beating down on them so intensely and the heat scorching their skin, it was a miracle that none so far had fainted.

She felt as though someone had taken a piece of sandpaper and scrubbed her mouth out with it, and she didn't particularly like the feeling. Rachael licked her dry lips and grasped around for her canteen, swivelled off the lid and tipped it up to her mouth – only to discover that she had forgotten to refill the bottle at the Bedouin trading post.

She swore roughly and hurled the canteen back into its bag. It was all Jonathan's fault – if he hadn't been such a stammering goof she wouldn't have become inappropriately flattered and walked off haughtily, like some flapper, therefore forgetting all about the one vital ingredient to survival in this wilderness. So, really, it was her own fault, but she didn't like blaming herself for things. So she decided to blame Jonathan. It made her feel better.

"Here."

She looked sharply to the left. Jonathan had ridden up on his camel beside her and was holding out his canteen for her to take. She stared at him with her mouth open, only snapping it shut when she realised what a total idiot she must look like. She hesitated, uncertain if he was being serious or not. He stretched his arm out even further.

"I haven't poisoned it, you know…"

She wouldn't put it past him, but nonetheless she reached an unsure hand out to take the water bottle. "Th-thank you," she mumbled. Jonathan nodded, wearing a barely perceivable smile, and slapped the reins of his camel, urging it to go faster. Rachael stared after him, clutching the bottle. She unscrewed the cap and raised it to her lips, closing her eyes in relish as the cool, tasteless liquid soothed her parched mouth and throat. She licked her lips to gather the remaining droplets around her mouth and replaced the lid on the bottle.

And for the first time since her initial encounter with Jonathan, a true smile appeared on her lips – a smile that gently embraced her eyes.

* * *

If it had been sweltering hot during the day, it was the complete opposite at night. Shivering slightly in the chill of the desert at night, Rachael glanced up at the black sky that was littered with stars, all winking down on her. The moon had barely just begun to shine through again, starting a new cycle, in the shape of a fine-lined and sharply distinguished crescent silhouette.

She looked around at her three companions. Hassan was snoring like a jackhammer and she raised a dismayed eyebrow at his sleeping figure, highly doubting that she would be able to get any sleep herself that night. Evelyn's head was bobbing comically up and down to the rhythm of her camel, something which amazed Rachael, making her wonder how the girl could _possibly_ have been able to fall asleep through the noise. Evelyn started to slip off her saddle, so with every intention to keep the girl firmly on her camel, Rachael pulled on her camel's reins to slow down, waiting for Evelyn's camel to trot up beside hers.

However, it was Jonathan who reached her first, pushing her back up onto the saddle, not leaving her side until he was absolutely sure she wasn't going to be falling off any time soon. He looked up and met Rachael's gaze. Frowning, he urged his camel to go faster to catch up to Rachael. "Why aren't you asleep?" he whispered as he pulled up beside her. Rachael released a very unladylike snort, gesturing her head towards the snoring warden.

"Come on, d'you really think I'll be getting any sleep with _that_?"

Jonathan shrugged. "Suppose not," he muttered.

"Well, that and that I am actually leading this expedition. In case you forgot."

"Oh, yeah."

The two lapsed into a very awkward silence, one which neither was willing to break first. But this was a problem for Rachael – she didn't like long silences. She bit her lip and reached into her bag, drawing out Jonathan's water bottle and handed it to him silently.

"Umm…here," she said softly, handing it back to him. "Thanks."

He took the water bottle and slid it into his own bag. "Don't mention it."

Another awkward silence. Rachael shifted in the saddle restlessly, her eyes darting everywhere around her surroundings _except_ to the cause of this mess.

And the cause of said mess shattered the silence with a truly ridiculous and, considering their environment, utterly pointless question: "What do you think of the Americans?"

She didn't get it. It was too specific for general speech, and it sounded rehearsed, as if he'd been thinking about it all day. It took all she had to stop an evil little grin appear on her face as she shrugged, moved her head to one side, and said thoughtfully, "Oh, I don't know. They're attractive, if that's what you mean."

Jonathan blanched, his eyes widening and nearly falling off his saddle. "They only want you for sex, you know," he blurted out, forgetting to keep his voice down. Rachael's eyes flashed with a sudden fury and her hands tightened on the reins.

"That's all you wanted me for as well," she gritted out, her semi-good mood gone.

Even though this statement was true, Jonathan found himself instead proclaiming, "That's _not_ true –"

"Oh, that's right. How could I have forgotten? You wanted me for sex _and_ to rob me!"

"For God's sake, O'Connell, how many times do I have to tell you I'm sorry?"

"Until I've forgiven you, Carnahan, and let me tell you, I don't forgive easily!"

"Well bloody well damn it, O'Connell, I saved your life on that boat, and I think that qualifies –"

"It doesn't 'qualify' as anything! I saved you first!"

"_You_ put me in prison to begin with, so that doesn't count –!"

"It counts, Carnahan! It counts, because _you_ were the one who –"

Evelyn moaned loudly in her sleep.

Jonathan's and Rachael's mouths snapped shut, swivelling around in their saddles to look back at Evelyn. She was still asleep but looked restless. The two glared dangerously at each other for a long time until Rachael cleared her throat and looked away, feeling like a hormone-ridden teenager for losing her temper so quickly over such a trivial matter.

Besides. He really _did_ save her life on that boat. "Consider it paid off, Jonathan," she murmured. "The contract is terminated."

Before he could say anything in response, she opened her eyes and silenced him with an icy look. "But that doesn't mean I've forgiven you."

She slapped the reins and urged her camel to go faster to take the lead. Jonathan stared after her in astonishment. She was obviously ignoring him, as she refused to turn around for the rest of the night, but Jonathan didn't take his eyes off her back. His lips curved into a slight smile. "Doesn't matter, Rachael," he whispered to himself. "I'll find another way."

* * *

The morning sky was blotched in a most horrid shade of pink, something which Rachael wrinkled her nose at. The pink hue, however, was not the only cause of her displeasure. She had hoped she would reach Hamunaptra before the American party did, but quickly saw that that was not to be the case as her small four-person 'expedition team' met the American's team of more than twenty Egyptian diggers.

Being led, of course, by Beni.

"Good morning, my friends," he said, shooting a shifty glare towards Rachael. Rachael raised an eyebrow and looked towards the quite barren horizon.

"What the hell're we waitin' for?" Daniels spat.

"Patience, my good sahib, patience," Beni murmured.

"Hey, O'Connell," Henderson said, grinning. She looked over towards him and raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement. "First one to Hamunaptra – five hundred bucks!"

Rachael only smiled.

The two parties waited in the utmost silence, the leaders of each staring intently at the horizon, waiting for the golden splendour of the sun to peek over the barren wasteland. "Get ready," Rachael murmured to Evelyn. Evelyn frowned and looked around in confusion.

"For what?"

_To believe you've gone completely mental in a few moments, _Rachael was tempted to say that but she didn't think Evelyn would appreciate it. So instead she simply said, "We're about to be shown the way."

The first time she had seen Hamunaptra, she thought she was hallucinating. Ancient Egyptian cities didn't just miraculously appear like a mirage when the sun came up, and it had taken her a number of hours to be convinced by her Colonel that the place was real. After all, she didn't believe in curses and all that mumbo-jumbo crap, even after her experience with the badly behaved sand, and she wondered how long it would take Evelyn to believe that the place was really there if she, too, didn't believe in magic.

The first rays of golden warmth glinted over the rocky terrain, and even though Rachael had seen many sunrises in her lifetime, this one still took her breath away. The rose-pink hue of the sky merged with the orange glow, enhancing the atmospheric majesty of the moment, and the brilliant rays of light hit the surroundings. Like a mirage, the previously invisible ancient city rippled into existence, revealed by the sunrise, and in a single, glorious moment, the ancient ruins of Hamunaptra stood in the distance, quiet, magnificent and dignified.

To those who appreciated it, that is. People like Evelyn and the Egyptologist, Doctor Chamberlain, who saw an incredible chance for studying this supposedly mythical place. People like Jonathan and the three Americans, who saw a fortune.

To those who didn't appreciate it, they saw a pile of unattractive ruins in the distance that meant little to nothing to them. People like Rachael, who saw nothing but a lot of trouble and bad memories. And possibly wealth. But mostly trouble.

Still the two groups did not move.

The silence was deafening.

At least, it was until Daniels yelled wildly and kicked his horse into action. As if setting off a chain reaction, everyone else around him sported the same response to his call, slapping their horses' reins or kicking them roughly. Inwardly smirking and sharing a knowing glance with Evelyn, Rachael whipped her camel.

Because camels, in the desert, running on sand, always travelled faster than horses.

The cloud of dust and sand from where everyone had taken off from seemed to follow the mass of horses racing forwards to the ruins of Hamunaptra – and even though Rachael, Evelyn and Jonathan had started moving after the three Americans, they soon found themselves in the lead.

Watching the librarian quickly overtake everyone else and speed towards the looming Hamunaptra, directing her camel through an opening in the small rocky barrier and cheer with delight, Rachael felt a thrill of pure, untainted joy – ecstasy. Giddy with emotion, the emotion that hadn't chorused through her veins for so long, Rachael threw her head back, her flyaway hair laced with the wind, and laughed with glee. A laughter that she truly meant, a laughter that hadn't erupted from her throat in more than three years – a laughter that warmly caressed her heart with the utmost bliss.

* * *

"That's the statue of Anubis," Evelyn explained, pointing towards the decrepit and crumbling statue that Rachael remembered only too well. "His legs are buried deep within the sand. According to the Bembridge Scholars, _that's_ where we'll find the Book of Amun-Ra. The Book of the Living."

Jonathan glanced at the statue and shuddered. "That thing gives me the creeps."

"Be nice to it," Rachael said sternly. "That thing saved my life. Sort of."

Jonathan frowned and turned away to face one of two mirrors Evelyn was finding incredibly interesting. Rachael patted the crumbling stone of the Anubis statue and walked over towards Evelyn. She poked the damaged silver surface with her finger. "Is it worth anything?"

Evelyn chuckled and twisted it on its pedestal. "I'm sure it would be, but good luck heaving it back to Cairo on the camel."

Rachael shrugged as if to say, _hey, I tried_. "Then what's it for? I mightn't know all that much about those ancient fellows, but I can't really picture those Egyptians admiring their reflections out here."

"It's an ancient Egyptian trick – you'll see."

So she was talking in riddles. Rachael, dismayed, looked away from the mirror and over towards the American expedition team. They had brought along countless of diggers, a wise move on their part, and they would no doubt be having a lot more success at finding any treasure than her own little team, consisting of four people.

_A librarian with little to no life experience; her drunkard thief of a brother; a prison warden who obviously hasn't heard of a shower; and an ex-legionnaire woman who pretended to be a man. What an absolutely perfect expedition team._

Grimly, Rachael pulled off her gunny-sack as Evelyn's voice drifted over to Jonathan: _"Jonathan, you're supposed to catch the light with that."_

Evelyn was just about the only useful person around her – the two men were close to worthless, and the only thing stopping her from getting the hell out of the place and abandoning them was the fact that Evelyn, despite having no experience in fieldwork, _was_ an Egyptologist and _did_ have an education, which mean that there was a chance – however slight – of them finding something worth taking home.

…But the Americans did certainly have a massive advantage. Doctor Chamberlain was no doubt far more experienced than Evelyn, and obviously knew what he was doing as he was busy snapping out orders in Arabic to the diggers heaving rocks out of a small chamber they were getting ready to raid.

For the first time she had set off with her three companions, regret stabbed her gut harshly.

Maybe she should have joined the Americans when she had the chance.

* * *

Lowering herself down the rope that fell into the deep underground chamber, Rachael's feet touched the sandy floor gently. Letting go of the rope, she peered around the eerie darkness, cautiously making her way over to Evelyn's dark figure in case she tripped over something. Evelyn turned around to face Rachael, a wide grin painted on her face. "Do you realise that we are standing inside a chamber that no-one had entered in over two thousand years?"

The girl was excited, and obviously wanted Rachael to share it. Rachael blinked slowly and stated tediously, "Fascinating."

Evelyn's face fell as Jonathan struggled down the swaying rope. "You really don't like Egypt, do you?"

"That obvious, am I?"

Evelyn nodded. Rachael shrugged.

"I'll be more excited when I see some treasure."

Jonathan jumped off the rope and onto the floor, wrinkling his nose in disgust and sniffing the air. "What's that God-awful stench?" He turned his head towards the struggling Arabic warden sliding down the rope with difficulty. Gagging, Jonathan turned his head away again and took a few steps back. "Never mind."

Rachael hid a smirk as Evelyn strode off towards a much more well-preserved mirror than the ones above them, brushed the cobwebs off its silver surface. "And then there was light," she murmured, moving it on its pedestal, positioning it so that it was faced at an angle which allowed a thin ray of light protruding from the hole the small group had come through in the ceiling to hit the metal disk. Light shot around the chamber, immediately making everything much easier to see. Rachael thought it was a bit tacky to be quoting the Bible but said nothing as Evelyn stared at the chamber in wonder. "Oh my goodness…" she said, enamoured. "This is – this is a preparation room!"

"Preparation?" Rachael repeated. "Preparation for what?"

Evelyn wiggled her fingers in Rachael's face. "For entering the_ Afterlife_…" she said in a mock-spooky voice. Rachael raised her eyebrows, still not understanding.

Jonathan nudged her side with his elbow. "Mummies, O'Connell," he said knowingly. "This is where they made the mummies."

She stared at him coldly. "Hey, if you really want your arm amputated _that_ badly…"

He quickly withdrew his elbow.

* * *

"…so, according to the Bembridge Scholars, there should be a compartment containing the Book of Amun-Ra underneath the statue of Anubis. It's bound to be around here somewhere."

Rachael was beginning to doubt that Evelyn's vocabulary extended beyond_ according to the Bembridge Scholars…_Oh, the girl meant well, but she was so damn _annoying_. Stifling a yawn, Rachael's fingers brushed against the engraved hieroglyphics on the enormous base of the half-buried Anubis statue. She couldn't understand what any of the symbols meant, nor did she really care to, but there was something intriguing about the carved language. Maybe it was the knowledge of the hard work that went into chiselling them into the rock. Or maybe it was the beauty of the glyphs. Maybe it was neither. But in all honestly, Rachael didn't give a damn.

A chill ran down her spine, her ears picking up a faint, disturbing sound. A sound that shouldn't be there. Her hand crept over to her pistol, clutching it tightly and drawing it out, her eyes dancing around the darkened chamber, trying to find the source of the noise. None of her three companions had heard it.

"If _only_ I had remembered to buy an archaeological kit from the trading post –"

"Shh," she whispered, flattening herself against the rock, holding up two pistols. "Get behind me."

Evelyn bit her lip and mimicked Rachael's stance against the base of the statue, tightly grasping the torch. Jonathan and Hassan followed the suit, drawing out their own weapons, as Rachael crept slowly towards the corner, cocking her pistol. The eerie noise echoed through the dense air like a cold finger running down Rachael's back, making her hand tremble ever so slightly. She didn't know what she was supposed to be wary of – it wasn't as if the lifeless ruins had some sort of ancient or cursed monster roaming the place – but there was something there. Something –

She leapt out from around the base of the statue, biting back a yell of terror as fifteen sweaty and fearful faces lunged at her and her three companions. Her finger nearly pulled the trigger of her pistol now pressed against one of the American's foreheads – just as a pistol was now resting on her own forehead. In frustration, Rachael gritted her teeth grimly and lowered her weapon cautiously away from Henderson's head as he and his entire group lowered their own weapons.

"O'Connell," Henderson greeted smugly. "You scared the bajeezus out of us."

Rachael forced a smile onto her face. "Likewise."

A dark, heavy silence settled over everyone until Evelyn cleared her throat nervously. "Well, gentlemen," she said, "have a good day. We have a lot of work to be getting on with."

Doctor Chamberlain pushed through the diggers and forced Beni off to one side. "Push off," he said snottily, glaring at Evelyn with the burning feel of superiority. "This is _our_ dig site."

Evelyn's eyes narrowed dangerously. "We got here _first_," she hissed.

Unfortunately, hissing out her statement was probably not the wisest move, as the Americans and Rachael jerked their weapons up again threateningly. "That may be," Beni said conceitedly, cocking his gun and shooting a cheesy grin at her and Rachael, "but there are only four of you…and fifteen of me."

"True," Rachael said softly, "but we did get here first."

"I don't think so. This here is our statue…_friend_," Daniels spoke up, smirking.

Rachael raised an eyebrow. "I don't see your name on it…_pal_."

Still no-one lowered their weapons. Rachael's finger twitched on the trigger – and was very close to pulling it, feeling the need to put a bullet between Henderson's eyes, and nearly did so. The only thing that stopped her was the fact that Evelyn pushed down her arm and stepped in between the two seething groups. A very brave – yet incredibly stupid – thing to do, in Rachael's reckoning, but also a very effective tactic, as everyone else slowly lowered their guns and pistols.

"Now, now, let's be nice, children," Evelyn said as though she was talking to a bunch of preschoolers. "If we're going to play together we must learn to share." She looked at Rachael, her eyes glinting with meaning as she said, in a very unsubtle nature, "There are _other_ places to dig."

Rachael O'Connell was a relatively tactless woman who preferred to spit out the cold hard truth, but she did know about subtlety and made a mental note to teach Evelyn about its art. So she shrugged and shoved her pistol in its holster, readjusting her gunny-sack and grinning. "Well, gentlemen, have fun," she said to the three Americans. Evelyn turned away, half-dragging Jonathan with her, and Rachael made a move to follow her.

At least, she would have if it were not for the minor fact that Henderson had grasped her elbow tightly, holding her there. Rachael nearly pulled out her pistol again to shoot him –

"Hang on, hang on…maybe we can work out something here. If you really wanna dig here that badly."

Evelyn glowered at him. "I _said_," she said forcefully, letting go of Jonathan to push Henderson's arm away from Rachael, "that there _are_ other places to dig, so you gentlemen can enjoy yourselves here. We're leaving, aren't we –?"

"No, no," Rachael interrupted, brushing Evelyn's hand away and wrenching her arm out of Henderson's grasp. "I'm listening. What are you proposing?"

Henderson grinned at Evelyn's appalled face. "Well…it's more for you, O'Connell," he said, shooting a glance at Jonathan's furious expression. "How much success d'ya reckon you'll have with your little team here? 'Cause we're the ones with the _qualified_ Egyptologist, and twenty diggers, and our own little guide."

Rachael didn't think it wise to mention that she was her own guide, or to retort to the fact that Evelyn was just as qualified as Doctor Chamberlain when she obviously was not. Jonathan stepped forwards, facing Henderson squarely. "She's with us, Henderson. She's not that shallow, you know."

"Yes I am, actually, so shut up, Carnahan."

Rachael didn't really care that Jonathan was staring at her with the utmost horror, but was trying to ignore Evelyn's betrayed and hurt stare burning on her back.

"Keep talking, Henderson."

Henderson shared triumphant glances with Daniels and Burns on either side of him before speaking up again. "All I'm sayin', O'Connell, is that we're bound to find something – and more of that something – sooner than your own little team. We like you, O'Connell, which is why we're willing to…uh…offer you a place with us."

Rachael was silent but her mind was racing. She had thought the exact same beforehand – the American team _was_ bound to have far more success than Evelyn. And it wasn't as though Jonathan or Hassan were much use to her either. And there was nothing really keeping her around, anyway…

"Whaddaya say, O'Connell? We've got far more to offer you than your expedition team."

Obviously she'd been silent for too long. Snapping out of her reverie, she quickly said, "I'm not gonna sleep with you. Don't even go _near_ that."

And she meant it. Jonathan might be a complete asshole and he might have slept with her, but he wasn't doing anything inappropriate now, and certainly wouldn't be for quite a long time, and she wasn't exactly looking for any more awkward situations. She hadn't really been expecting to receive an invitation without paying something in return to the Americans, anyway, and her point was proven with Henderson had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well…"

"Forget it." Her voice was laced with a touch of poison, and she spoke in such a tone that it made all three Americans visibly flinch. Daniels shifted where he was standing and put on what Rachael supposed was meant to be a charming smile.

"All right, all right, we won't do anything unless _you_ want to," Daniels said casually, holding out his hands.

She didn't believe him. "I said _forget it_."

She turned to leave, but froze at what issued from Henderson's mouth a moment later: "Now hang on just a minute! Carnahan over there slept with you but you hate him, and you refuse to join us even though we've said we won't do anything? And as far as I'm concerned, you don't hate us –"

Rachael didn't hear the rest of his outraged defence of himself – not that she cared the slightest – instead rounding angrily on Jonathan, her eyes narrowing viciously and her voice etched the utmost fury. "_You told them?_"

It was the final straw.

She didn't mind the fact that they'd had sex. She wasn't even overly annoyed with the stealing either. It was the fact that he opened his mouth and _told_ people that they'd had sex.

A weak excuse, she knew that, but she knew it was all she needed to make a break.

He took a step back, holding up his hands. "Rachael, it's not what –"

She broke him off. "Damn it, Carnahan! Who else have you been telling? Can't you keep that goddamn mouth of yours _shut_? I don't know what the social norms are over in merry old London, but private encounters are supposed to stay _private_!"

Jonathan frowned deeply and stood his ground against the livid American woman. "Now wait a minute, O'Connell, I didn't actually _tell_ them –"

"You know what, Carnahan?" she interrupted him again. "I really couldn't give a shit anymore. I've had it with you! I've had it! There's nothing keeping me around you anymore, you know that? You've repaid your life debt and I always had the upper hand in this agreement, anyway! I – I'm not staying around you."

And she meant it. Jonathan's lips had formed a thin grim line of dismay, but it was not his reaction to her outburst that punched Rachael in the gut with an iron fist of pure, untainted guilt.

"…Rachael…"

The girl looked like she was on the verge of tears, and even though Rachael was surprised that Evelyn had called her by her first name, and not 'Miss O'Connell' for once, that wasn't what had seized her with a fresh wave of guilt. The broken, betrayed whisper of her name nearly made Rachael withdraw everything she said to Jonathan.

Nearly.

Because the fact remained that Evelyn was Jonathan's sister, and wasn't about to leave him for the sake of some coarse-mouthed American woman with a bad temper. Which meant that Rachael wasn't going to stay around Evelyn.

Because Jonathan would be there. And at least with the Americans, she wouldn't have to face his stare, his eyes continuously raking her body, making her wonder if he was remembering their one night of drunken passion, their bodies colliding together in a violent form of joining against a wall in her shoddy Cairo apartment – his heated gaze that made her involuntarily shiver every time she noticed him watching her –

Rachael shook her head, avoiding all contact with the girl's hurt eyes. "I'm…I'm sorry, Evelyn. I just can't – can't – I'm sorry." She hardly registered that she called the girl by her given name, but was more dwelling on the fact that it would be rather cruel to have brought her all this way to Hamunaptra only to leave with another group. And quite possibly leave her here with her useless brother. And the warden. And none of them knew they way back to Cairo. Fumbling around desperately for words to feebly make up her abrupt and rude departure, Rachael mumbled, "I'll…I'll still get you back to Cairo safely. It's not your fault, Evelyn, but I _can't_ stay around him anymore."

Evelyn nodded weakly. "I understand, Rachael…but…"

She trailed off, unsure of how to finish. Rachael bit her lip. "I'll get you back to Cairo when this is over, all right?"

It was the least she could do. Evelyn met her gaze with a hard stare, a total contrast to her previously shattered expression. "Do I have your word on that?"

Whatever Rachael had been expecting, it was not that. The girl, however innocent and inexperienced, had proven herself to be quite strong-minded when it came to matters she believed she was completely correct on, and Rachael had been fully prepared to endure a harsh lecture of…well, she didn't quite know what of exactly, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn't Evelyn's submission to her decision. Which meant that Evelyn knew that Rachael always had the upper hand, and had taken her to Hamunaptra out of pure pity.

Which also meant that Evelyn was indebted to her, and this was how she was repaying it: by letting Rachael do as she wanted.

_Do I have your word on that?_

Did she? Rachael didn't know yet herself, but she someone found her hand digging into her pocket to withdraw the octagonal-shaped puzzle box. Feeling her fingers close around the cold metal, Rachael gripped it and withdrew her hand, tossing the ancient artefact over to Evelyn, who caught it as a reflex action before realising what was in her hands. Evelyn stared at the puzzle box, her initial confusion quickly replaced with a surprised understanding.

"You have my word on it."

Her voice was soft, but Evelyn heard it. She nodded awkwardly, clutched the puzzle box tightly, and smiled weakly. "Best of luck, Rachael."

She turned away, holding her head high, tugged on Jonathan's shirt to pull him after her, and departed the chamber with Hassan shuffling closely behind in an effort to keep up. Evelyn didn't look back, but…

…Jonathan did.

And as his blue eyes met Rachael's, she bit back a gasp, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to feel his eyes on her. She didn't reopen them until she was sure he was gone, and even then she still felt as though he were there, watching her. Henderson casually slung his arm around Rachael's shoulders. "So, partner –"

"I _thought_," Rachael said frostily, "you promised you wouldn't try anything without my consent."

Not that she _would_ ever give him, or any of the Americans, consent.

Henderson quickly removed his arm and mock-bowed, shuffling over to Chamberlain who was eagerly translating Hieroglyphics on the impressive base of the statue. She would have more success here with the American expedition team. Chamberlain was far more qualified and experienced than Evelyn, there were diggers to excavate everything so Rachael wouldn't actually have to get her hands dirty, and the three Americans were her countrymen; she felt safer around them – they had weapons, they were combat-trained, they knew what they were doing.

And anything they managed to find would surely be worth more than her puzzle box that was now in Evelyn's possession.

Whispered remnants of a conversation taking place between Chamberlain and Burns echoed over to where she silently stood.

"_Do they know something we don't? Why are they digging elsewhere?"_

"_They're led by a woman. What does a woman know?"_

Rachael's fingernails cut into her palm as her fist tightened. What does a woman know, indeed. Turning towards the three Americans, forcing her rage beneath her surface to settle, Rachael grimly assessed her situation. Yes, she now had a far greater chance of finding something, and yes, she got what she wanted.

Sort of.

At least with Evelyn, Hassan, and…heck, yeah, even Jonathan…she was more than just a woman. More than just a plaything.

She had been Rachael O'Connell. She had been _someone_. Their leader.

And now? Now who was she? She was just a woman. And she had made her choice.

After all…what _did_ a woman know?


	7. Chapter Seven

_A/N:__ All right, sorry for the wait. My internet connection these past three weeks has been absolute hell – nothing worked for me. So here's Chapter Seven and I hope you enjoy it. I stuck to the movie scenes a little more closely than I probably should have, but I particularly liked these ones and I couldn't find much reason to change too much yet, but don't worry – I really will be diverging from the movie within the next few chapters, I promise! So don't forget to leave a review, as it would be much appreciated! Thanks, guys!_

_A/N 2:__ As you guys may remember, at the start of Chapter One I said that __**Estora**__'s stories __The Mummy: A Final Rising__ and __Sinister Resurrection__ were major influences for an important aspect in this story. Okay, so basically, Anzar and Ardeth Bey's relationship in __Pistol__ is based on the same sort of relationship __**Estora**__ has written about between Ardeth and Zahir Bey in __Sinister Resurrection__. She has given me full consent to use this as a major influence/inspiration, so for that I would like give her a very big Thank-You!_

_Disclaimer:__ Yeah, guys, I'm making a fortune from this…_

**PISTOL: A Rendition**

**Chapter Seven**

The disappointment seemed to radiate from his sister, scorching him, as the two siblings gently chipped away at the ceiling – the only two tools that Jonathan 'found' in Hamunaptra since arriving. Evelyn hadn't said a word to him since Rachael had left them for the Americans, not that he really blamed her. It was, after all, only _partially_ his fault that their personal guide around Hamunaptra had left for a better expedition team.

He couldn't get her image out of his mind. The way she looked at him as he walked off, before closing her eyes as if suddenly ashamed of her choice, as if suddenly caring what Jonathan thought of her. Well, he'd bloody well tell her what he thought of her once he'd finished here with Evelyn! He thought she was a cheap, shallow American with little respect for those around her. Didn't she care that Evelyn was now silently raging with her betrayal? Didn't she care that Jonathan didn't want her to be taken advantage of by the Americans? Didn't she care that he _wanted_ her beside him, that he _wanted_ her around? Didn't she care that he thought she was someone? Didn't she care that she meant something to him?

…Didn't he mean _anything_ to her?

Jonathan suppressed a sigh and blunted his chisel against the rock when he smacked the ceiling too hard for the tool's tolerance. Ignoring his sister's patronising glare, Jonathan threw the useless thing to the sandy floor, shortly before realising that they didn't have any more tools.

Evelyn pocketed her chisel and shook her head. "Well, I hope you're happy with yourself, Jonathan."

Jonathan glared at his sister. "I'm overjoyed, Evy, thank you."

"This is not a time to be joking, Jonathan!" she snapped. "None of this would have happened if you hadn't stolen Rachael's puzzle box, or had kept your mouth shut about – about – you know…"

She trailed off, reddening furiously, so Jonathan helped her along. "Kept my mouth shut about sleeping with her?" he supplied bitterly, turning away and leaning against the rocky wall. "Is that what you mean? Just come out and say it, Evelyn. I'm a right bastard and a complete screw-up. And I bloody well fucked up big this time."

Evelyn flinched at his coarse language, reeling back and covering her mouth with a hand in horror. "Watch your language, Jonathan Carnahan!" she ordered, placing her hands on her hips and creating an uncanny impression of a cross mother. "Such language from someone such as yourself is quite unseemly. And yes, I will come out and say it. You _can_ be a right…well…you know…" She trailed off and lowered her voice to a whisper, glancing around nervously as if fearing that someone would hear her, "_bastard_, when you feel like it, and yes, you _can_ be a screw-up, and _yes_, you messed up really big this time! I'll admit that Miss O'Connell should control her temper around you a little more, but because of your inability to stay quiet for long enough to think about what comes out of your mouth, we've lost out guide around Hamunaptra, and we're stuck with that awful man who probably hasn't taken a shower in his entire life!"

She stopped to draw breath and her gaze softened. Walking over towards Jonathan, she rested her head on his shoulder blade, closing her eyes.

"…But…if you _hadn't_ stolen the puzzle box, I highly doubt we'd be here right now. I mean – we're in Hamunaptra, Jonathan. That's an amazing statement as it is. I shouldn't be complaining, really. Rachael's still taking us home, isn't she? I think we've done well, Jonathan. And in the end, it's really all thanks to your drunken stupidity. I never thought I'd say that, but there you go."

Jonathan was silent for the entire duration of her speech, stunned. Wasn't she mad at him for screwing everything up for them? For ruining this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for her? "You're…you're not…angry?" he weakly asked. Evelyn snorted sulkily and forced Jonathan to turn around so that she could face him.

"Of _course_ I'm angry," she said half-heartedly, suggesting that she really wasn't, "but I'm also…glad, I suppose, for lack of a better word. You single-handedly got us here, by finding Rachael in the first place." She grinned and hugged him tightly. "So even though you've screwed up…you're not a _complete_ screw-up. Now let's get back to work before those beastly Americans find that compartment."

Jonathan let go of Evelyn as she pulled out her chisel once more and moved towards where she was chipping away at the ceiling. Jonathan picked up his blunted tool from the sandy floor, staring at it dourly, then looked around, a frown furrowing his brow. "Say…where's our smelly little friend gone?"

* * *

"All _right!_" 

Rachael looked on with a keen interest as Chamberlain and Henderson found the secret compartment they had been searching for. Brushing away dust from the seam, Chamberlain examined the hieroglyphics surrounding the compartment, his lips silently forming the translations. Henderson looked around for something to open the compartment, in which Rachael helpfully held out the crowbar. Grabbing it roughly from her hands, Henderson jammed it into the seal.

"Let's get us some treasure –!"

"_Careful_!"

Henderson's efforts to open the compartment had been in vain, as Chamberlain had lashed out sharply to grab his wrist tightly. Henderson looked ready to start swearing violently at the Egyptologist, but Chamberlain spoke before him.

"Seti was no fool." Rachael didn't know who Seti was, but something in Chamberlain's grave tone suggested that this 'Seti' was of great importance – and that it wasn't safe to open the compartment. Chamberlain gestured towards the cowering diggers. The Egyptologist lowered his voice. "Perhaps we should let…the _diggers_ open it."

Henderson shared a glance with Daniels and yanked the crowbar out of the seam, nodding. "All right," he drawled. "Let _them_ open it."

As Chamberlain snapped something in Arabic, or whatever language it was – she honestly had no idea what, nor did she really care – Rachael leant back against the wall again and crossed her arms over her body. Three diggers scarpered forwards nervously, all clutching crowbars, and jammed them into the seal around the compartment.

Judging from the way Chamberlain was backing away from the compartment while yelling at the diggers, who doubled their efforts, Rachael came to the conclusion that the distance away from the compartment she was standing was more than likely not a safe one, so she took a few steps backwards.

Or at least, she would have if she hadn't been startled by a muffled crash that seemed to sound from…the floor?

She whipped her pistol out and pointed it at the sandy floor, her eyes sharp with precaution. A quick glance at Daniels told her that he hadn't heard anything, as he was staring at her strangely. "Did you hear that?" she asked quietly, her words nearly drowned out by the Egyptologist's shouting. Daniels frowned.

"Hear what?"

"That – that noise. It sounded like a crash. From underneath us."

The American shook his head. "I didn't hear nothing, O'Connell," he said, looking back up at where the diggers were prying the covering to the compartment away. "Don't go gaga on us now."

Gaga. What a delicate way of putting it. Dismayed, Rachael relaxed her aim with the pistol, her hand falling casually to her side but still gripping the weapon tightly. Sweat glistened on the three diggers' heads, but still Chamberlain yelled at them, even as the compartment covering started to loosen, a grating noise filling the dreary chamber. Chamberlain yelled again, just as the covering was pulled off, landing to the floor with a dull thud –

– But the excitement of having it open was quickly quenched with cries of the utmost horror as an intense burst of liquid shot out of the compartment, hitting the three diggers. Rachael stumbled backwards, raising her pistol like her three American companions, as agonising screams of pure anguish filled the air. The chemical was searing through the diggers' skin, burning it – burning their faces, burning their eyes, their throats –

She closed her eyes and turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Rachael O'Connell was not a squeamish person. Quite the opposite, but watching the diggers stumble around blindly before her, screaming in pain, their faces half seared off in, dropping to the floor and writhing, made her stomach churn when it normally would not. Doubling over, the bile burned her throat, the bitter acidic taste of vomit filling her mouth.

In the background, she dimly heard Chamberlain say, "_I told you it was not a good idea for a woman to join us…_"

* * *

No matter how many times she had rinsed her mouth out with water, the vile taste of vomit lingered on her tongue and raw throat. Gagging slightly, Rachael shifted the gunny-sack on her shoulder and sullenly trudged over towards Evelyn's and Jonathan's small camp set up away from the American camp. Now that she had joined up with the American expedition team, it only seemed fitting that she moved her belongings over to their camp. 

She grimly assessed this. She was no longer with Evelyn and Jonathan, but even though the Americans had accepted her, she didn't feel as though she belonged there. She was more of an extra wheel, someone who wasn't necessary or needed – merely desired. And now that she _had_ abandoned – _changed groups_, Rachael told herself, _changed groups_ – her previous group, she didn't belong there either.

She was just…there.

In the middle of nowhere.

_But don't forget about the treasure_, she thought. _That's all you're here for. The treasure. It doesn't matter about _belonging_ anywhere, for fuck's sake. It'll all be over soon. Just take the treasure, get Carnahan and his sister back to Cairo then get the hell out of here. That's it_.

Wasn't that what it was all about? Wasn't the treasure about why she had left Evelyn and Jonathan Carnahan for better, well-equipped group?

…Or was it just about getting away from him? So she wouldn't have to see him?

To remember?

She shook her head.

Of course it wasn't.

Inwardly sighing, her shoulders fell. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so hard on the absent-minded fellow. He had only been _joking_ back at the trading post, and surely she was not so bitter in her youth yet to take such offence to the harmless comment? It _was_ fairly funny, now that she thought about it, but at the time she just…flew off the handle, for lack of a better phrase.

It had almost as if it had been that she was…_angry_ he thought so little of her.

Despite it only being a joke.

But it wasn't as if she _cared_ about what he thought about her.

Gritting her teeth, she slipped down a sand dune to greet Evelyn and Jonathan, who were curled up next to a flickering campfire. Rachael noticed that Hassan was absent from the group, and picked up the quiet conversation murmured between the two siblings.

"What do you suppose killed him?" The girl was staring into the flickering flames of the fire, and she was as still as a statue as if in a state of total shock, but that wasn't what caught Rachael's concern – her voice was completely devoid of any sort of emotion. 'Him', Rachael supposed, was Hassan, and judging from Evelyn's behaviour, the timid librarian had either seen his dead body or watched him die.

Jonathan sighed and prodded a log on the fire with a long stick. "Did you ever see him eat?"

Evelyn snorted resentfully.

Jonathan shook his head. "Two team members in a day," he said dejectedly. "I don't really care about the second, but I really wish –"

"Rough day, huh?"

She didn't want to hear any more and made her presence known to the two. Evelyn jumped and Jonathan swivelled around, his mouth snapping shut and a frown appearing on his head. "What are you doing here, O'Connell?"

Rachael caught the bitter tone laced in his rude greeting – something that would normally have prompted a smirk to grace her face, but coming from him, just moments after nearly hearing him wish that she hadn't gone? It felt like a punch to the gut, yet still she forced a smirk onto her face. "I'm just collecting my belongings."

Evelyn nodded silently and bit her lip. "The warden died today."

Rachael sat down next to the librarian. "How?"

The girl shrugged. "We don't know."

An awkward silence settled over the three of them. Despite realising that it was probably not the wisest move on her part to continue with the morbid conversation, Rachael said, "Well, if it helps, we had our own little misfortune today. Three of our diggers were…uh…melted."

"Melted?" Evelyn repeated, aghast. "How?"

"Salt acid," Rachael said, remembering Chamberlain's explanation and blurting it out before she could think about what she was answering. "Pressurised salt acid. Some sort of ancient booby-trap."

Evelyn shivered as Rachael silently choked back another gag, realising what she had said. Jonathan winced and pointed a finger at the campfire, jerking his hand to create a poking motion. "Maybe this place really _is_ cursed," he murmured absently.

A gust of wing blew through the camp and the fire flickered intensely.

An eerie silence enveloped the three.

Before she could stop herself, Rachael looked up and met Jonathan's firm gaze. Her lips parted in surprise and her mind screamed at her to look away, to focus on something else, _anything_ else, but she found her eyes wouldn't obey. Even though Jonathan's face was still and stoic, his blue eyes betrayed everything. Disappointment, betrayal, hurt, anger –

– _ohgodmoremorepleasedontstop_ –

"Oh, you two!"

Evelyn's exclamation shattered the brief connection and Rachael seized the opportunity to turn away, closing her eyes. She didn't know why she cared so much about what the Englishman thought, or why she was even contemplating it.

It wasn't as if it _mattered_.

"You don't believe in curses, huh?" she asked, inwardly surprised at how steady her voice was. Evelyn shook her head.

"No, I don't. I believe if I can see it and I can touch it then it's real. That's what I believe," she said firmly. "And if my observations are correct, that's what you believe, too, Miss O'Connell."

Rachael allowed a small grin to grace her lips. "I believe in being prepared." She pulled a rifle out of her gunny-sack and cocked it, just to make a point, and stood up, moving over towards where her few belongings resided, beside Evelyn's. "So you managed to set up the tent without too much hassle?"

Evelyn glanced over at the tent a few metres away from the campfire and shrugged. "Not too much hassle," she confirmed, "but it would have been easier with a third person."

Once more, Rachael made a reminder to teach Evelyn about the delicate art of subtlety, as it was blaringly obvious that the girl had no idea how to use it. Hiding the stab of guilt that punched her gut with her poker face, Rachael nodded and picked up her things. "Yeah, shame Hassan carked it."

If the girl was insulted, Rachael didn't stick around to find out, instead turning away and striding away purposefully towards the American camp.

Behind her, she caught the outraged remnants of Evelyn's and Jonathan's conversation. Curious as to what the two siblings would be saying about her, she stood still and strained her ears to pick up the rest of the conversation.

"_Well, I never! Being so openly disrespectful of the dead! I know he was not the most agreeable of all people, but you would think that__ –"_

"_Forget it, Evy. She's…"_

Rachael half expected Jonathan to finish the sentence off with a _not worth it_, but he trailed off as if suddenly unsure of how to finish.

"…_She's…probably got a lot on her mind."_

Rachael O'Connell's jaw was not accustomed to dropping open when she was surprised, but this was one of the rare times it did just that.

"_Yes, well, we all have and you don't see _me_ poking fun at the warden's untimely death."_

"_You, dear sister, merely lack Rachael's sharp edge."_

"…_I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult."_

Jonathan chuckled. _"Either one. Although, speaking of Hassan, let's take a peek at his stuff."_

"_Jonathan, you really shouldn't –"_

Evelyn was broken off by Jonathan's sharp yelp. Rachael's free hand jumped to her pistol in a wave of panic.

"_What? What is it?"_

"_Broken bottle."_

Rachael nearly swore out loud and her hand fell from her pistol, gritting her teeth and cursing herself for her stupidity. What was she thinking? That she could protect him from something? He wasn't worth it. Besides, it wasn't as though she was all that concerned about the Englishman.

Of course she wasn't.

She didn't care.

With that thought in mind, she shifted her belongings and strode away purposefully, ignoring the rest of the drifted conversation that followed her until she was out of earshot. Something about alcohol.

…That conjured an unpleasant memory.

Closing her eyes, she threw her stuff down next to Burns's pile of belongings and unceremoniously sat on top of it, not caring what she was crushing. Perhaps the word 'unpleasant' was a little strong, she considered, covering her face with her hands. The memory was…less desired than others. Yes, that sounded better.

Less desired.

– _moreohpleasemoredontstopjonathan –_

This time she swore roughly and quite loudly, with every intention of letting every single person within hearing range that she was thoroughly pissed off, but she was drowned out by the familiar chorus of gunfire. With a start, her hand snapped to her waist to draw her pistol as her eyes flew open, scanning the immediate area, only just noticing that all three Americans, Beni and Chamberlain were absent.

Jumping to her feet, Rachael grabbed her gunny-sack and threw it open grabbing a rifle and a spare gun to shove in her holster. Her hand hovered over the sticks of dynamite, caught between deciding whether or not to take them.

Her debating time was cut short, however, as a bullet whizzed past her ear.

Her breath latched in her throat as she jumped out of the way of another potential killing shot, running and cocking her rifle. Running through sand was never pleasant, nor was it easy, but running for your life through sand was just about as bad as it could get. Turning around to face her prospective murderer to fire a well-aimed bullet through his chest, she pulled the trigger and moved out of the horse's way as the rider fell off, dead.

Screams and yells of the Americans echoed through the camp, laced with the cracking of gunshots. Firing her rifle to shoot down the attackers, she noticed that they looked peculiarly like the silent, unresponsive warriors on the cliff she had seen running away from Hamunaptra three years previously.

Upon closer inspection – in which she narrowly escaped a possible head decapitation – she decided that these new enemies were indeed the fellows on the cliff she had seen. Rachael snorted and fired, stepping over the man she had just killed. So much for 'silent' and 'unresponsive', then.

Her eyes raked the battle scene, her eyes darting back and forth between their new enemies. It didn't really strike her as being odd that not one of them cared that their fellow warriors were being killed – such was usually the case with desert tribes, much like the Tuaregs –

No, scratch that.

Her aqua-blue eyes caught one man, when every time one of his fellow warriors was shot down, his body language indicated that he longed to leap off his horse and slaughter the killer.

It was strange to see, but it gave her an idea.

Running up on a high ledge, her eyes followed this man, the one with raven-black locks and strange markings on his face, as he galloped through the ruins – chasing none other than Jonathan Carnahan.

If the situation were not so dire, Rachael would have laughed.

So she didn't laugh.

It never really occurred to her until afterwards that jumping off the ledge and barrelling into this warrior with a sword – _sword?!_ – was possibly the most idiot thing she had ever done in her life besides accepting alcohol from the very man whose life was in danger. Yet jumped she did, and successfully slammed into the enemy she did. He was thrown off his horse, and Rachael with him, as the two hurtled to the sandy floor. Spinning up on one knee, Rachael fired her rifle.

And she would have shot him if it were not for the minor fact that he used his sword to strike her weapon away.

She still had her pistol and her spare gun, but both weapons were now essentially useless. She ducked as the man took a swipe at her head and rolled out of the way, now wishing that she had snatched the sticks of dynamite when she had the chance. Now she would have to settle with second-best, and pray that this man's loyalty to his tribe overrode his desire to kill her.

For as she rolled out of the way, she kicked out at a running enemy and tripped him over. With a thrill of satisfaction, she grabbed the man's collar and together the two stumbled to a standing position, with him in front of her like a human shield and her pistol shoved under his chin.

The reaction she had expected from the battle around her was that there _was_ to be no reaction – so it completely astounded her when she realised that every single attacker in the midst froze, all eyes directed at Rachael, the man she was holding a pistol to, and the man previously engaged in fighting her.

Holding the man in a tight arm-lock, she cocked the pistol and dug the barrel deeper into his skin.

"_La_," her previous attacker breathed, his hand gripping a formerly concealed gun tightly. "Let him go. Your fight is with me."

"My fight," Rachael hissed, "is with every single one of you bastards." She kicked her captive's right ankle. "Including him."

The man's eyes flashed darkly as he took a step forwards. "Let him go," he repeated.

"And if I do? What will you do then?"

"Ardeth, for Allah's sake, kill her –"

Rachael kicked his ankle again, this time harder, which resulted in a growl. Frowning coldly, she tapped his jaw with her pistol. "Shut up. I wasn't talking to you. You forget who is holding the weapon to whom." She shot a challenging glare at Ardeth. "Ardeth, is it? Well, I ask you again – what will you do if I let him go?"

"We will leave, on the condition that you, too, leave."

Her captive snarled. "Ardeth, just shoot her –!"

She kicked his ankle again, this time making him hiss in pain as he staggered in her grip. "I can kick harder," she warned. Glancing back at Ardeth, she said, "Shoot me, he says. Perhaps it should be noted that by the time you pull your trigger, I will have already put a bullet through this man's head."

Her voice rung with pure confidence, cockiness, and callousness, as if she honestly couldn't care less about her own life.

In truth, however, she was utterly terrified.

Three years ago, in this very same godforsaken place, she decided that she was too young to die, and she was more than happy to stick to that consideration. Death was not an appealing thought.

But Ardeth seemed to have fallen for her bluff, and lowered his gun, throwing it to the sand and standing back.

"_Ardeth, damn you, pick it up –_"

"No, Anzar!"

Rachael smiled coldly and removed her pistol from her captive's – Anzar's – head, shoving the barrel into the small of his back and thrusting him forwards roughly towards Ardeth. "Get out of here, before I kill you both."

Ardeth shot her a harsh glare. "Leave this place. Leave this place or die!"

* * *

"Leave this place. Leave this place or die!" 

The woman raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth, no doubt to ask for some sort of explanation to this rather dire order, but Ardeth didn't stay to receive it. Turning away, he grabbed Anzar's elbow and pushed him towards a horse, ignoring the cold glares of the Americans and their diggers. Anzar wrenched his arm out of Ardeth's grasp and turned on him furiously, his dark eyes flashing dangerously. "_I told you to shoot the damn woman!_" he snarled.

Ardeth gripped the horse's reins. "And perhaps I would have, had your life not been at stake. The moment I would have fired she would have already killed you."

If the honest respect for Anzar's life Ardeth held meant anything to the younger Med-jai, he did not let it show. "Then you should have let her kill me, if it meant getting rid of these people!" Anzar hissed. "It is our solemn duty to protect these ruins, to ensure that the Creature remains undiscovered, and to do that, sacrifices must be made!"

Ardeth grabbed Anzar's shoulder. "You would have done the same for me."

It was not a question – it sounded more like a statement that needed reassuring. Anzar stared at his elder brother for a few agonisingly slow moments before shaking his head slowly. "No, Ardeth," he gritted out from behind clenched teeth. "I would not have done the same. If it meant protecting this place, I would have killed her. Even at the cost of your life."

Ardeth's face showed no emotion, but his dark eyes deceived him. Anzar angrily shook off Ardeth's hand from his shoulder, snatching the reins out of his brother's slack hand and mounting the horse.

"You trust too easily for your own good, Ardeth. That's what makes you weak. Always unwilling to make sacrifices. You continue to fail in your sworn duty, brother. My only consolation is that if you die childless, _I_ will lead the twelve tribes."

The words pierced, despite their often repetition.

_That's what makes you weak._

Ardeth didn't turn around as his brother spurred the horse into action to flee the ruins with a few Med-jai who gladly followed him. Too deep in thought to even notice when his own horse trotted up beside him and waited for him to leap on, and ride out with the rest of the Med-jai, Ardeth vaguely patted the horse's neck. Was valuing human life really a weakness? Something to be looked down upon?

He hoped not.

Leaping onto his horse, Ardeth glanced around the campsite, observing the Med-jai warriors watching him for orders. "_Yallah, imshi!_" He snapped irritably, kicking his horse into action. Cantering through the ruins – and over many dead Med-jai bodies, he grimly noted – Ardeth cast a fleeting look at Anzar's back.

_No, Ardeth. I would not have done the same. If it meant protecting this place, I would have killed her. Even at the cost of your life._

Ardeth winced. No matter how many times he had heard those words, he was still unable to look past them, unable to pretend that Anzar didn't really mean it. Perhaps he really was weak.

And perhaps, Ardeth bitterly reflected, he was being selfish. Guarding Hamunaptra was the first priority of a Med-jai warrior, and since his life clearly meant nothing in his brother's eyes…perhaps he ought to have seen it that way, too.

* * *

Holding a cloth to the girl's wound, Rachael carefully poured some of Jonathan's alcohol over it, ignoring Evelyn's hiss of pain. Using her free hand, she wound a strip of bandage around Evelyn's arm, tightening it and tying it in place. The bullet had been a through-and-through, and hadn't hit any major blood vessels. Biting her lip as she moved back to allow Evelyn to lean back into her 'bed' – next to campfire and not in the tent as one would have expected – Rachael said, "I should have left a weapon with you." 

Evelyn shrugged her right shoulder, wincing when she tried to move her left with it. "It doesn't matter, Miss O'Connell. I'm perfectly all right."

Jonathan knelt in the sand beside his sister. "You need to go to a hospital, Evy."

"The only way you are taking me to a hospital would be to drag me there because I am most certainly not leaving Hamunaptra any earlier than planned, Jonathan Carnahan!"

Rachael nearly smiled. The girl would be fine.

"I'm just saying, Evy…you need medical attention, sooner or later."

"It'll have to be later, then."

Jonathan scowled and gently pushed Evelyn back into her sleeping place for the night. "Fine, but only if you go to sleep."

Evelyn rolled her eyes and settled into her sheets, staring at Rachael expectantly. "Well, Miss O'Connell, thank you for your help, and we won't take up any more of your time. I'm sure you'll be wanting to head back to the American group now."

This time she smiled. Unsubtle as ever. "I suppose I –"

She was broken off by a very drunken, hysterical cry issued from the American camp, followed by a large bout of swearing and a poorly sung American folk song. Choking back a very girl-like and uncharacteristic giggle, Rachael raised an eyebrow and Evelyn bit back a smile. "Perhaps it would be better if you didn't join them until they've passed out. You can stay here for the mean time."

She meant to decline politely and purposefully depart the small camp to attempt to gain a proper night's sleep – she meant to keep her eyes from straying to the clear blue gaze of the Englishman, hoping to go the rest of the night without looking at him once – but she found herself failing miserably on both accounts.

So she stayed with Evelyn and Jonathan in silence, listening to the drunken ramblings of the Americans.

…And she didn't feel quite so alone.

* * *

Evelyn had fallen asleep quickly – far too quickly for Rachael's liking – which meant that now she was stuck in Jonathan's presence, and her only other option for human company was with the Americans, who were still parading around and now singing 'God Save the Queen' when it really should have been 'God Save the King'. 

So Rachael, even though hating to admit it, preferred Jonathan's presence over the Americans' presences. Despite him sipping slowly at the bottle of alcohol, she still thought that as long as _she_ didn't touch the alcohol, she wouldn't get into the same situation that started this whole mess.

She vowed not to touch liquor in Jonathan Carnahan's presence.

A vow which was quickly broken when he offered some to her.

Rachael O'Connell was not familiarised to getting drunk on a regular basis, so she was not entirely sure what was happening until the two were nearly finished the bottle. Within those few hours the Americans had fallen silent – no doubt having passed out – and it was only at the point when Jonathan tried to shove the nearly empty bottle into her hand that a suspicion she might be drunk crossed her hazy mind. She shook her head and pushed the bottle away from her.

"I learnt my lesson last time, Carnahan." Her voice was slurred and the world around her tilted slightly as she struggled to stay on her feet.

"Of course you did." His voice, too, was slurring, but he appeared to be keeping a much better balance than Rachael. Even in her intoxicated state, Rachael knew what sarcasm was and what was not.

"I did!" Her loud, slurred voice was accompanied by a poorly coordinated arm movement which threw her off whatever balance she may have kept, falling forwards. Fortunately she was caught before she hit the ground, and Jonathan's arms firmly wrapped around her body to keep her steady. She glared up at his grinning face. "I hope you're not expecting anything in return."

He shrugged sheepishly. "Well…"

Rachael pushed away from him, staggering backwards. Even in her intoxicated condition, she would _not_ fall into the same trap twice. "Forget it, buddy. You get nothing from me."

The Englishman smirked. "If you say so."

She opened her mouth to retort sharply, until she realised that, through her hazy memory, this conversation echoed her very first one with him. She kicked the sand, nearly falling over again, and turned away from him. "Damn it, Carnahan…"

"Jonathan."

"What?"

"Call me Jonathan."

She turned around again, a frown etched on her forehead and her glazed eyes glowering at him, although the combination was relatively ineffective. "I'll call you whatever the bloody hell I want to call you, _Carnahan_."

Jonathan smirked. "Does that mean I get to call you whatever I want, Rachael?"

She shivered. _Rachael_. The way he said it, the way he looked at her – the heated gaze…she didn't like it. The way he said her name…intensely…

…Seductively.

"Don't," she whispered.

"Don't what?"

"Don't say my name like that."

"Like how?"

Helplessly, she shook her head. "Like…that." Obviously, being drunk destroyed her ability to be coherent.

"You're being awfully vague, Rachael."

There. He said it again. Heatedly, passionately, even despite the slight slurring of the words. She gritted her teeth and poked a finger at his chest. "Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?"

He smiled and grabbed her hand. "On many occasions, darling."

_Darling_. That's what he had called her when they first met, in the Kasbah. Furiously, she tried to wrench her hand out of his grip. "Don't call me that!" she snapped. He pulled her closer, refusing to let go of her hand. Blue intense eyes bored into hers as she tried – vainly – to pry her hand from his.

"Why not, darling?" he breathed, lowering his lips to her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "You get to call _me_ whatever _you_ want, so I don't see why not…"

She jerked away from him, blinking back the unintentional tears that stung her eyes. "Fuck you, Carnahan, just fuck y-"

_-ou_.

She meant to finish, meant to turn around and walk away without tripping over, back to the American camp so that she could retain at least an ounce of dignity. But she couldn't finish, and she didn't turn around and walk away.

Jonathan Carnahan's arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, and his lips had smothered her words.

* * *

**Ooh…you know, I didn't really mean for this to turn out this way. It just sort of…happened. I still don't know where I'm going with this, so any suggestions would be much welcomed. Thanks for reading, and please don't forget to leave a review! Remember: I thrive on constructive criticism!**


	8. Chapter Eight

_A/N:__ Sorry for the lateness, guys – I've been drowned in assignments and to boot, I hit another one of my dreaded Writer's Blocks. So…grr. Another reason is that this chapter was initially longer than this, with a whole extra scene at the bottom, but I couldn't figure out a way to finish it, so it's been moved to the next chapter to keep you guys from waiting even longer than you should. Thanks for being so patient, guys, and please enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review!_

_Disclaimer:__ Hang on…this _doesn't_ belong to me?!_

**PISTOL: A Rendition**

**Chapter Eight**

Exhausted, sweaty, extremely hung over and feeling like the most wretched woman in Egypt, Rachael O'Connell bitterly considered that perhaps it would have been nicer to sleep with Jonathan Carnahan sober.

Or possibly not at all.

Waking up that morning with a splitting headache had been the least of her concerns – being stark naked with her body entwined with an equally naked Jonathan in his tent was. Mortified with the bare thought that she had lost control, for the second time that week to the _same person_, Rachael gritted her teeth and buried her shame as she helped heave the ornate chest out of the secret compartment, trying to forget about it.

She had fled the scene before Jonathan woke up, and found herself praying to a God she wasn't sure existed that he didn't remember anything. Chances of her wishes actually being answered were close to nothing – of the two, she had been the most drunk and remembered a fair bit of the previous night, only leaving her to imagine what Jonathan's memory was.

Setting the chest down heavily on the sandy floor and stepping away from it with the three Americans, she leant against the wall to catch her breath as Chamberlain knelt down beside the thing and started translating Hieroglyphics. Covering her face with her hands, she barely noticed Burns stand next to her, wiping his glasses insistently and peering at her through squinted eyes. Sliding his glasses back onto his face, he frowned.

"What's the matter with you, O'Connell?"

Rachael rubbed her eyes and smothered a yawn. "Hangover," she explained shortly in a tone that suggested she didn't want to talk about it. Burns didn't catch her subtle drift.

"I don't remember seeing you last night."

"That's because you were smashed shitless. I'm not surprised you don't remember me being there."

She hoped that he would accept her explanation. Burns moved his head sideways and narrowed his eyes, looking doubtful. "No, I really don't think –"

"There is a curse upon this chest."

Chamberlain's proclamation cut through Burns's line of speech, his dark and serious tone destroying any happy mood of discovery the others had been feeling. Rachael snorted and shook her head, ignoring the Egyptologist's cold glare. "Curse?" she repeated.

"Curse my ass!" Daniels declared in retaliation. Chamberlain's glare was quickly directed at him as well, but far less meaningfully.

"In these hallowed grounds, that which was set forth in ancient times is as strong today as it was then."

Rachael raised her eyebrows. "Bull-bloody-shit," she murmured, attracting a snigger from Beni in the corner. She glanced at him. "Stuff it, Gabor."

"As you command, _Miss_ O'Connell."

_Miss_.

_Miss…O'Connell_.

_Just making a point,_ his mocking eyes seemed to say. He wasn't going to try anything in plain view of three Americans and an Egyptologist, but Rachael certainly didn't miss the obvious hand twitch towards his gun and the dark, sadistic glint in his eyes. In response, her own hand twitched towards her pistol, raising an eyebrow as if daring him to attack her.

A small unpleasant smile brushed his lips, and his hand fell.

Rachael let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. There was only one reason she hadn't tried to kill Beni – and vice versa – and one reason _only_. Being with the Americans meant she had to play along nicely with them, and since Beni was their guide around Hamunaptra, she couldn't very well kill him. Granted, she knew the way around as well, but the Americans didn't know she had posed as a man in the Legion three years previously. And if Beni happened to_ slip_ this little detail of her life to the Americans, her own hand would always be waiting to _slip_ on the pistol trigger.

Beni would have killed her, too, and she damn well knew it. Every time he looked at her, she felt the seething rage sear her – because she had pretended to be his best friend in the Legion, because she had lied to him for all their time in the Legion, because he was too stupid to have figured her out, because she was better than him…because she had pretended to be someone she was not.

Because she was not Richard 'Rick' O'Connell.

Because she was Rachael O'Connell.

…Because she was a woman.

And damn it all to damnation, she was practically a nobody as the last two.

Chamberlain's voice laced with her thoughts, drawing her out of her self-pitying wallow grounds. "_Death will come on swift wings to whomever opens this chest_," he translated, running his fingers over the hieroglyphics.

She was about to roll her eyes.

_About_ to.

Rachael O'Connell was not a superstitious woman, nor did she scare easily, but when a cold ripple of wind washed through the chamber, making the torches flicker, she found herself wishing that bullets _could_ stop the wind. This notion, however, was quickly diminished by a far more intelligent one – they were underground, in a dark gloomy chamber, and as far as Rachael knew, wind didn't blow indoors.

* * *

Hauling the sarcophagus over to the wall to stand it up would be virtually impossible, Jonathan quickly realised, without at least another person to help out, and he really couldn't picture Evelyn heaving it with him, especially now…with her injured arm… Giving up and collapsing against the sarcophagus, he exhaled loudly and used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat away from his throbbing forehead. Evelyn sat down beside him, attempting to run a hand through her untameable mass of frizzy hair, which seemed even more uncontrollable in the intense heat of Egypt. 

"We'll never get it off without help," Evelyn muttered softly, her eyes downcast in disappointment. "If only…"

She trailed off, sighing.

_If only_.

Two simple and utterly useless words, Jonathan reflected, as he started drawing patterns in the sand with his forefinger. _If only, if only…_there were too many _if onlys _for his liking here. If only they hadn't lost their equipment with the boat, if only they'd been more prepared, if only they had _one more person_…

…And if only that one more person was Rachael.

He closed his eyes.

_Don't –_

…the way her arms wrapped around his shoulders, the way her lips parted to deepen the kiss…

– _Think –_

…the searing passion, the heated kisses, and that single moment of ecstasy explosively shared in chorus…

– _About –_

…was she really so ashamed of herself for losing control? Ashamed of _him_? Regretted it, perhaps…?

– _Her_.

"What's the matter with you?"

His eyes snapped opened. "What?"

Evelyn stared at him curiously. "You look funny. What's the matter?"

He gritted his teeth, forcing all thought of Rachael to the back of his mind. "Hangover." It was only a half-lie. His head still throbbed as an aftermath of the alcohol, but that wasn't what was troubling him.

"You're lying."

He stayed silent.

"What's _really_ the problem?"

She knew him too well. He knew it was no use lying further, but he'd be damned if he'd just sit there and tell his sister that he was irrevocably and madly in lo-

_What?!_

Jonathan choked on his breath.

No. Of course not.

He wasn't going to sit there and tell Evelyn that he'd slept with Rachael_ again_. Yes, that's what he had meant. As if the virginal librarian could understand anything about _that_ sort of stuff…

"…Nothing you'd understand, Evy. Just…let it go. Please?"

He sounded pathetic, and she could hear it only too well. Peering at him closely and curiously, with the faint crease of a frown touching her forehead, Evelyn shook her head, her eyes clearing with sudden realisation. "It's about Rachael, isn't it…?"

Her voice was soft, sympathetic, and it made Jonathan cringe. "Let it _go_, Evy."

His voice was cold, hard, and it made Evelyn cringe. He stood up, kicking at the drawing he had been tracing in the sand roughly and turning around, smacking his hands onto the unlocked sarcophagus lid. Evelyn jumped to her feet and touched his shoulder. He hardly felt her small hand there – and the only thing he knew he _was_ doing was pushing, with all his strength, against the uncooperative lid to the sarcophagus that had been buried at the base of Anubis.

"Honestly, Jonathan, don't bother – you'll only hurt yourself –"

It was true; his back ached from the strain and droplets of sweat glistened on his throbbing forehead as he threw all his weight at the lid.

"Jonathan, for God's sake, you're being absolutely ridiculous. It'll never budge –"

_Gra-a-a-ate_.

The siblings froze and glanced at each other. Evelyn's eyes glimmered with hope as she saw the grim determination flickering in her brother's. Grinning, she laid her uninjured hand on the lid and nodded. Together they pushed, feeling the lid give way underneath their arms, slowly, slowly…_slowly_ –

– And the crash made them jump away from the opened sarcophagus. Sagging against the side, brother and sister shared a small, exhausted smile.

* * *

"It says here…there is One, the Undead, who if brought back to life, is bound by sacred law to consummate this curse. He will kill all who open this chest, and assimilate their organs and fluids." 

"Fascinating," Rachael drawled dryly, her eyes still focussed on the archway where every single one of their diggers had ran through; screaming about curses after the wind blew through the chamber.

"Ya mean…ya mean _eat_ 'em?"

"Chill out, Burns. Nothin's gonna _eat_ ya."

"Yeah…so long as we just make sure we don't bring anyone back from the dead then, huh?"

Chamberlain continued as if no-one had spoken. "…And in doing so he will regenerate and no longer be the Undead, but a plague upon this earth…"

_Plagues, curses, Undead Ones, blah, blah, blah…_Rachael rolled her eyes and turned around to face the Egyptologist and crossed her arms over her chest. She was on the verge of screaming at him to open the goddamn thing so that she could get her treasure and get the hell out of the godforsaken place. "Will you just hurry up and open the thing?" she snapped at Chamberlain, her patience wearing thin. "We haven't got all day for your analysis!"

She heard the faint 'ooh'ing of Henderson. _"I like 'em fiery…"_

The Egyptologist drew himself up proudly and peered at her through his monocle darkly, a frown sinking into his forehead. "Excuse me, young lady!" he huffed. "But if you cannot contain yourself I highly recommend that you either remove yourself from the vicinity or stay _silent_! _I_ am the Egyptologist in charge here, _not_ you!"

Soft guffaws echoed from where the Americans were kneeling, but they were uncertain – and so they bloody well should have been! Rachael had three options at hand: to get even with this snotty Egyptologist; ignore the snotty Egyptologist and stay put; or to turn around and walk away.

'Getting even' with Chamberlain, by her standards, was drawing her pistol and shooting him in the foot, but she highly doubted the Americans would be too pleased should she wound their prized Egyptologist, so that option was out of the question, however appealing the notion was.

And she was sick to death of the Americans and their sexual advances. She was not a damn _plaything_.

She was sick of Chamberlain and his obvious sexist views.

She was sick of fucking _Egypt_.

So she started to turn away.

Then stopped.

What would it prove if she walked away? That she was not up to taking their revolting comments? That she was willing to spit on her pride and walk back to Jonathan and Evelyn after she had so unceremoniously abandoned them?

No.

Rachael O'Connell had decided a long time ago to be the unconventional 1920s woman, and she'd be damned if she'd tear down her pride for the sake of a few _comments_!

…And it didn't occur to her that Jonathan's teasing and harmless comments were nothing in comparison to the crap she was taking from the Americans.

She shrugged and leant against the wall. "All right," she said in a voice that suggested she was not nearly as calm as her exterior appeared. "_You're_ the Egyptologist. Go do your stuff."

An awkward silence followed.

Obviously, that was not the reaction everyone had expected.

Burns coughed loudly and tapped Chamberlain on the shoulder. "Can we open it now?"

With a final glare at Rachael, to which she promptly replied with a smirk, Chamberlain turned away from her and knelt down beside the chest, running his fingers over the hieroglyphs and softly translating under his breath. "_In these hallowed grounds, that which was set forth in ancient times is as strong today as it was then_…"

_Fascinating_, she felt like saying again, but it struck her as a little too cheesy for the situation. If she wasn't careful it was going to become her trademark, and she wasn't too keen on having her name being associated with a bored 'fascinating'. Inwardly grimacing at the thought, she merely waiting until Chamberlain looked up, nodded, and moved back from the chest to let the Americans open it.

"Awesome," Daniels breathed, flexing his fingers and getting ready to open it.

But Beni was shaking his head, backing away, and trembling so hard one might have thought an earthquake was killing him from the inside out. "The curse," he breathed as a droplet of sweat tricked down his face, his torch quivering so violently that it actually fell from his hand and dropped onto the sandy floor. "B-beware the curse!"

She felt like laughing as the tiny Hungarian fellow turned and bolted from the chamber.

"Stupid, superstitious bastard," Henderson muttered. Rachael glanced at the chest as Daniels grasped the lid of the chest –

– and yanked it away.

In that instant as the lid was ripped off, the thought that perhaps she should have been standing a further distance back from it briefly crossed her mind, but by the time the hissing grey mist filled the chamber, making her choke on cough on the putrid air, it was too late. Gagging and pinching her nose, Rachael tried in vain to make the mist surrounding her clear away. With watering eyes, she sunk to her knees and started to blindly crawl and claw her way around the chamber to find someone else, her only guide being the rough swear words and gasping coughs of her four companions.

Her hand grasped someone's ankle. The owner of the ankle yelped loudly and kicked, nearly smacking Rachael in the face, so she tightened her grip and snapped, "It's me, you idiot! Hold still!"

"R-Rachael," the voice coughed, identifying himself as Burns. Using her free hand to wipe away the tears, she forced her eyes open to the fullest and peered through the grey mist. She could only just make out Burns's cringing figure, but after a few more moments she could see her other three companions' figures far more clearly as the mist started to settle. Letting go of Burns's ankle, she stood up and stared at the chest, her hand gripping her pistol tightly.

"What the fuck was _that_?!" Henderson swore, stumbling to his feet and drawing his own weapon. "Great one, Chamberlain! We're probably all gonna die now!" Silently, Rachael agreed with him, but prayed that such was not the case. Chamberlain pushed down Henderson's gun, ignoring the accusations, and waved the almost-transparent mist away from the chest as he knelt down beside it. With a tenderness Rachael thought to be unseemly in a man, Chamberlain unfolded the flaps of an ancient material and uncovered…

A book.

Whatever excitement that had been built up in that short time for the three Americans and Rachael had quickly been diminished as Chamberlain gingerly pulled the ancient artefact from the chest. He was the only one with wide eyes of incredulousness, and he was the only one who was unaware of it as he ran his fingers over the hieroglyph-inscribed cover of the black book. "I have heard of this book," the Egyptologist breathed, "but never truly believed it existed. This, good gentlemen, is a most priceless treasure."

Rachael grimly noted that she was not included in his statement. "A book?" she said rudely, glaring at the object in Chamberlain's hands. "That's _it_?"

Daniels spat onto the sandy floor. "I wouldn't trade ya for a brass spittoon!"

"Yeah!" Henderson snapped, jumping to Daniels's and Rachael's defence. Well, it was less of a defence and more of his own attack, but it was nice to see that they were agreeing with her. "It's supposed to be made outta pure gold!" He kicked the chest violently, ignoring the Egyptologist's cry of horror –

And a lower compartment broke open.

They peered into the lower compartment, examining the contents…and a greedy grin curled Rachael's lips.

* * *

The two groups had now – much to Rachael's dismay – joined, and were sitting around a raging fire in the middle of the Hamunaptra ruins. The blazing heat was stinging her eyes and the thought that she should probably stop staring at the flames crossed her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to look away. The dancing flames of yellow and orange reminded her passion, of raging lust, furious emotions running through her body, and it held her captive, totally entranced, in the same way Jonathan's eyes captured her, entranced her – 

– _Huh?_

She blinked and tore her gaze from the fire to the Canopic jar she held tightly in her hand, her ears roaring. No, she hadn't meant that at all.

Of course she hadn't.

"_Say, Carnahan, whaddaya think these honeys'll fetch us back home?"_

Her mood, if possible, fell further as the three Americans sauntered around the camp fire waving their gold-painted Canopic jars around gloatingly.

"_We hear you found yerself a nice gooey mummy. Congratulations."_

"_Ya know, if ya dry him out you can sell him for firewood…"_

The three erupted into laughter. Rachael looked up and frowned at her three companions, opening her mouth to scold them for making fun of Jonathan's lack of treasure-discovery –

"Scarabs!"

Her mouth snapped shut as Evelyn joined them, holding out her hand under Jonathan's nose, and silently blessed her well-timed arrival. If the girl hadn't appeared there and then, Rachael would have started to shout at the Americans in Jonathan's _defence_.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

Jonathan took one look at his sister's outstretched hand and recoiled. The girl giggled.

"Flesh-eaters," she explained, casting a wary glance at Rachael's flushing face. "I found them in our friend's sarcophagus. They can stay alive for years living off the flesh of a corpse."

Jonathan poked a scarab, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "So you're saying someone threw these things in with the guy and they slowly ate him alive?"

Evelyn grinned evilly. "_Very_ slowly."

Rachael's eyebrows rose in surprise. She hadn't taken Evelyn to be…well…a humoristic sadist. It just didn't suit that librarian appearance Evelyn had created for herself. Perhaps Rachael didn't really know the girl as well as she thought she had, and it made her wonder what the real Evelyn Carnahan was like. So caught up in this unusual flash of insight of hers, it took her a few moments to realise that Jonathan was talking.

"…certainly wasn't a popular fellow when they planted him."

Evelyn snickered. "Yes, well, according to my readings, our friend suffered the Hom-Dai, the worst of all ancient Egyptian curses. It's reserved for only the most evil of blasphemers. In all my research I've never heard of this curse actually having been performed. They never used it because they feared it so. It's…it's written that if a victim of the Hom-Dai should ever arise, he would bring with him the Ten Plagues of Egypt."

Burns shrugged his shoulders. "Yah mean like what Moses did to the Pharaoh?"

"Yes. Precisely that."

"Let's see," Jonathan murmured, drawing everyone's attentions back to him. "There were was the water turning to blood…"

"The frogs," Burns added.

"Umm…"

Rachael stared back at the fire, the words falling from her lips. "…The lice and vermin, the flies, death of the Egyptian livestock, the boils, hail and fire, locusts, darkness, and death of the firstborn…"

She trailed off, realising that everyone was now staring at _her_. Evelyn's jaw was slack. "How…you…I…" The girl cleared her throat. "I hadn't taken you for the religious sort, Miss O'Connell."

Oh.

That's why they were looking at her like she had grown another head.

Because she wasn't taken for that 'sort'. Because knowing a bit of religion suddenly went against everything she stood for.

Because no-one expected the coarse-mouthed unconventional woman to know something that was saved for the _educated_ sort, for the _proper_ sort.

Shrugging weakly, hiding her silent rage, Rachael quickly mumbled, "It…it was a Catholic orphanage."

And by God, she hadn't had the entire Bible beaten into her for nothing! She might as well use her knowledge!

Subconsciously, she rubbed the back of her right hand, inwardly wincing. She could almost _feel_ the ruler slashing down onto her hands, again and again, until she could properly recite all Ten Commandments without faltering once, without crying out in pain as the ruler lashed, without actually _disobeying _them –

_Thou shalt not worship any God but Me._

_Thou shalt not make for thyself a sculptured image of what is in the Heavens above._

_Thou shalt not use My name for evil purposes._

_Thou shalt observe the Sabbath and keep it holy._

_Thou shalt respect thy father and thy mother._

_Thou shalt not kill._

_Thou shalt not commit adultery._

_Thou shalt not steal._

_Thou shalt not accuse anyone falsely._

_Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house._

She still knew them by heart, forever imprinted on her mind, the cruel reminders as small inconspicuous scars on the backs of her hands. The problem was that she never really obeyed any of them. She didn't even _believe_ in God, and she had just about broken every single Commandment anyway. Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not use My name for evil purposes…

She didn't look up again for the rest of the night.

But if she had, she would have met Jonathan's burning gaze.

And she knew that if she did, she wouldn't be able to look away.


	9. Chapter Nine

_A/N:__ Woah, sorry for the wait, everyone! Our teachers this year hate us. Like seriously, HATE us. But moving on…This chapter is one hundred percent completely in debt to __**Nakhti**__ – I seriously could not have done this without her. She even wrote a portion of this chapter! So this chapter is dedicated to her, and the credit for the scene between Jonathan and Rachael goes completely to her. Thank you so much, __**Nakhti**__!_

_Disclaimer:__ Foolish slaves, how darest ye question my superiority! Don't you know I own it ALL? _

**PISTOL: A Rendition**

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

Exodus, 10:13–14  
_So Moses held out his rod over the land of Egypt, and the Lord drove an east wind over the land all that day and all night; and when morning came, the east wind had brought the locusts. Locusts invaded all the land of Egypt and settled within all the territory of Egypt in a thick mass; never before had there been so many, nor will there ever be so many again_…

**תנ״ך תודה שמות**

* * *

Strolling through the ruins in the dead of night was probably not the most intelligent idea she had come up with, but she wasn't in the mood for berating herself. Glancing up at the sky, her eyes caught the dull glow of the crescent moon. Sighing, she leant against a pillar and rapped her fingers on the gold-painted Canopic jar in her hands. This piece of Egyptian treasure was certainly worth more than that puzzle box she had temporarily given Evelyn. Granted, she really didn't know how much the puzzle box was worth, but it was old, silver and authentic. She'd get _something_ for it. Once she had that in her hands again, she'd have enough money to get the hell out of this backward, godforsaken country…

"Managed to get your treasure, then."

Rachael spun around, her free hand jumping to her pistol as a reflex action. She hadn't heard anyone creep up on her – something that hadn't happened for a long time.

_Snap out of it, O'Connell…you're losing touch._

Gritting her teeth furiously, her hand dropped from her gun and she took a few steps back.

"What the fuck do you want now, Carnahan?"

She had meant the words to sound insulting, cold, like she really didn't have time for him, but instead they came out in a tired, whiny tone. Wincing when she realised just how pathetic she sounded, she refused to look up and meet the clear blue gaze of the Englishman.

Knowing that if she did…she just wouldn't be able to look away again, wouldn't be able to look away from his shiveringly entrancing blue eyes which seemed to captivate her every time she met his eyes, flooding her with the memories of their nights of passion – and she hated it, knowing that she was out of control.

Jonathan took a step forwards and cleared his throat nervously. "Rachael…about last night –"

"Don't!" she snapped, turning away from him fiercely. "Nothing happened, Carnahan, and that's the way it's going to stay, do you understand? _Nothing happened_."

With her back turned, she missed the look of hurt that slashed Jonathan's face – but she felt it only too well. The cruel, awkward silence wrapped around her chest like the cloth that she had used to bind her breasts while serving in the Legion, only worse. Jonathan's steady breathing was all she could hear, loud and laboured and full of hurt, filling her with an uncontrollable desire to –

To what, hurt him some more?

She didn't think she wanted to know.

"You know why those Americans want to keep you around, don't you?" he said darkly, an almost cruel tone to his voice. "It's because they're all waiting for the chance when your guard slips, and they can have their turn with you."

She spun around to meet his gaze. Although she had been unable to look him in the eye only moments earlier, the way he had said those words – laced with such poisonous spite and bitterness – roused her anger to such an extent that there was no danger of being seduced by those blue depths now.

"And what about _you_, Carnahan?" she spat, grabbing his shirt and slamming him back against the pillar. "Is that what you were doing? Waiting 'til my guard slipped to 'have your turn'?"

Jonathan grunted as his back hit the stone. Her sudden lunge had caught him off balance, but even now, when he could easily have pushed her off, he didn't attempt to resist her grip.

He could feel her intense gaze burning into his retinas, but he met it with an equally searing one of his own. "No."

It was such a simple word, yet the emotion behind it made her shiver and loosen her grip on his shirt. The sheer frustration and bitter defensiveness of it…it stirred some strange pang in her abdomen, so unfamiliar that for a moment she did not recognised it for what it was. Hope. She loosened her grip on his shirt and moved closer, drawn in by the magnetism of his wounded gaze.

"Then what am I to you," she breathed, "if not just some piece of tail to have your turn with?"

She could feel his breath caress her cheek.

"You're more to me than you'll ever be to those Americans."

Her lips parted in surprise.

At those words her anger disappeared, and she didn't like the new emotion that replaced it. She didn't like the way it mad her shiver involuntarily, the way it made her body ache with a longing that was foreign to her, the way it rendered her defenceless as she stared into his eyes.

The way it made her lose all control over the words that spilled from her lips.

"Prove it."

She had meant to come back with some tart response, a parting shot to punctuate her escape, but before she could really comprehend what had come out of her mouth, Jonathan's lips silenced it with a kiss.

An outraged protest waiting in her throat, for a moment she considered drawing back and delivering it with a slap, but to her shame and amazement she found that she didn't want to.

Instead, she felt her resistance dissolve as his hands encircled her waist, pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. Her hands that had still been clutching his shirt now softened against his chest, then slowly moved upwards to slip around his neck.

What was happening? This was not like any kiss they had shared before. Instead of frenzied and passionate, almost desperate, a mere expression of urgent desire as they tore each others clothes off, this was slow and tender, full of warmth and feeling. It expressed a different kind of need, one that was emotional rather than physical. She had demanded he prove what she meant to him, and he needed to show her just as much as she needed to be shown.

But she was not about to admit it.

Her eyes snapped open with this realisation. What the fuck was she doing? How could she actually believe, for one moment, that he sincerely harboured any feelings for her besides wanting to jump her? Tearing her lips from the passionate lock, rage glittered in her eyes as she scanned the Englishman's confused face.

"What are you playing at, Carnahan?" she said darkly, ignoring the lingering feeling of his lips caressing hers delicately.

Jonathan frowned, his arms falling form Rachael's body as she took a step back. "I'm not playing at anything this time," he said, almost defensively. "I may be a dishonest gambler, but I only bet with my money. Never my heart."

Rachael scoffed. "You don't have any money, Jonathan," she tartly replied.

"All right then, Evy's money." He was only partly ashamed to admit it, but that was not the reason for his constricted tone – he a little annoyed that she was missing the point. "I do have a heart, though."

"Really?" she questioned, her face etched with doubt.

"Really."

"Never with your heart?"

"Never."

"Then what about other peoples' hearts? Are you gambling with _mine_?"

Jonathan's jaw clenched tightly, his eyes searing with rage, and for the first time ever Rachael saw what he looked like when he was truly angry.

"You know, you can be a really ungrateful cow sometimes!" he snapped.

As soon as the cruel words left his mouth, Jonathan knew it was entirely the wrong thing to say, and her reaction was nothing less than what he had come to expect from the irascible ex-Legionnaire.

"_Ungrateful_?" She spat, hurtling his word back at him like something poisonous. "Am I supposed to be _grateful_ to you for kissing me? Don't flatter yourself, Jonathan, I've had better offers!"

It was a blatant lie, but Jonathan didn't need to know that.

Jonathan expelled a few angry breaths, shaking his head. "You know, Evy used to have a cat like you," he said bitterly. "No matter how nice I tried to be to it, the vicious thing damn near ripped my bloody arm off every time I went to stroke it!"

"Well, maybe you should have learned your lesson and kept away from it!" Rachael retorted hotly, unsure why she was warning him away.

"Oh, I did eventually," Jonathan half snapped back at her, "_darling_."

And with that he straightened up his dishevelled shirt, lifted his chin, and calmly walked off without giving her a backward glance.

Rachael stared after him, long after he had disappeared among the shadows of the ruins, the stab of hurt pounding in her chest. _Darling, darling_…he now used the endearment as a bitter mockery of what it briefly once stood for.

Damn it, why had she done that? He had been trying to tell her that she meant something to him. Why couldn't she do the same? Because he _did_ mean something to her, much as she tried to deny it. He was nothing like the men she had ever been involved with before; an English gentleman with too much time on his hands and no inclination to do anything with it, except drink, gamble and womanise his way into further disreputability.

…Actually, apart from the English gentleman part, he was _exactly_ like all the men she had ever been involved with.

And perhaps that was the problem. Her romantic history was better left buried, like this whole damn accursed city. Leaning back against the cracked and pitted sandstone column, she kicked at the fragments of stone littering the ground, one made a clinking sound as it clipped the base of the alabaster Canopic jar at her feet.

Well, perhaps not _everything_ was better left buried. Some value could still be salvaged from the ruins of the past.

Perhaps it was the same of hers as well.

As she bent over to slide her trembling fingers around the cold artefact and picked it up, she vaguely wondered whether, like her, the cat Evelyn used to own had actually _wanted_ to be stroked, and was only reacting the way everyone had come to expect her to. It was like some inexplicable habit that she couldn't break, but desperately wanted to.

He'd _given_ her that chance to break that habit, and what had she done?

She scratched him, and his blood now stained her claws.

* * *

"…So, I pulled out my gun and _bang!_ The robber fell to the floor, and…you're not really listening, are you?"

Her head snapped upwards to meet his eyes through the grimy glasses. "Huh?" she said stupidly.

Burns sighed and went back to shuffling his deck of cards. "Don't worry," he mumbled, his face tinged with a slight pink hue in embarrassment. Rachael gritted her teeth and cursed her inability to stop her thoughts from straying. It wasn't as if she was actually _interested_ in his pathetic attempts a flirting with her, but she did feel bad for so making it seem so obvious that she couldn't give a damn about what came out of his mouth.

"No, Mister Burns, really, what did you –?"

"_NOOOOOO!"_

Her hand snapped to her pistol the instant she heard the fear-stricken scream pierce the air and leapt to her feet, her eyes darting madly around the ruins.

"_YOU MUST NOT READ FROM THE BOOOOOOK!!"_

_Chamberlain_, her mind hissed, as Henderson and Daniels threw open the flaps to their tents with guns drawn. The four all shared awkward, confused glances. The very atmosphere seemed to chill in every passing moment, as if in waiting, _waiting_…

And then she heard it. Like some sort of drill, a low drone, soft at first, it pounded in her mind, and she turned her head towards its direction – from the desert.

"Oh my God…"

Looming like a wave of malevolence from the darkness, a wall of buzzing – _things_ – crashed over the ruins and the camps, slamming into her before she could even move, let alone register what was happening. And the moment she felt the insects slapping her skin, crawling through her hair, roaming her clothes, she screamed, _get them off, get them off –_

_O'Connell! O'Connell, we've gotta get the fuck outta here! _

A hand grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her through the thicket of swarming locusts, and she used her hands to swat the bugs from her body as she allowed whoever it was to pull her away from the camp to wherever – _anywhere but here, anywhere –_

Through the buzzing, through the screams of the diggers, she heard him.

_Evy, get inside, get inside! Just run, for the love of God, run!_

She opened her eyes, searched around her, just trying to find his face, to make sure he was all right –

But instead, her eyes fell upon Chamberlain.

Standing before the flickering campfire, he was completely immobile – so statue-like it was almost as terrifying as the number of locusts crawling all over his body.

His face was turned to her.

She saw his lips move.

Didn't hear him.

Didn't try to call out.

But she could _see_ what he said, before she was forced into the dark ruins of Hamunaptra by whoever's goddamn hands were on her –

…_What have we done…?_

The campfire flickered violently, and died.


	10. Chapter Ten

_A/N: Woah! Has it really been that long? (Eyes last update date). Oops. Sorry…though I can safely say that this was a Not-My-Fault™ case. Exams, dear readers! And I think we all agree that exams, while far less desirable, are more important than fanfiction, right? Please don't hurt me. Thanks to all of you who continue to provide incredible support for this story! Don't forget to leave a review – and as per usual, constructive criticism is much appreciated!_

_Disclaimer:__ …What?! How darest ye imply I do not own this! BLASPHEMY!_

**PISTOL: A Rendition**

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

Exodus, 8:2  
…_Aaron held out his arm over the waters of Egypt, and the frogs came up and covered the land of Egypt_…

**תנ״ך תודה שמות**

* * *

"What the _fuck _–?"

Rachael ploughed into Henderson's back. "Well don't _stop_, you idiot! Keep running –"

"We…we're safe in here," panted Daniels, his dark eyes furiously raking their dark surroundings. "Those…_things_ – grasshoppers or whatever – can't get us…down here…"

"Locusts," Rachael murmured. "It was a plague of locusts."

"Yeah, I don't give a crap what they were, I just wanna get the fuck outta here –!"

"Oh, shut up, Henderson!" Rachael hissed, trying to peer through the inky darkness. "We all wanna get out of here!"

Burns was shaking his head, his fingers fumbling with a box of matches. "N-no," he stammered, looking terrified, the matches rattling violently in the box in time with his trembling hands before dropping them to the sandy floor. "The locusts. Wasn't Miss Carnahan talking about the ten plagues? Locusts – that's one of the plagues –"

Daniels smacked Burns on the back of his head. "Don't be a dick, Burns!" he snapped. "One of the local's told me they're generational. Every seven years or somethin' like that…"

Bending over, he scooped up the fallen box of matches from the floor, pulling out a match and striking it against the box. The sudden flare of a tiny flame did very little to make a difference in the darkness, instead only casting flickering and – even though Rachael would not admit it to herself – incredibly disturbing shadows everywhere. Someone managed to find a torch on the wall, but the eerie darkness made it impossible for Rachael to tell who. Shortly the wooden torch was alight, and as Rachael's eyes adjusted to the now not-so-dark labyrinthine passageway.

Something croaked.

The five froze. Feeling sick to the stomach, Rachael heard another croak echoing down the narrow labyrinthine hallway, and as her eyes adjusted to the settings, she could see tens of hundreds of dark lumps littering the corridor, hopping in rapid succession like a mini tsunami.

She bit her lip and turned to face Daniels, whose eyes were wide with disbelief. "Are frogs generational too?"

Henderson grabbed her elbow and forced her around to face him. "Okay, now _you're_ being stupid," he snarled, a bit of his saliva splashing on her face. "We've gotta keep going."

She pulled away from him, taking a few steps back – and trod on a frog.

_Squish._

Closing her eyes in disgust and trying not to throw up again, she blessed the shoes she was wearing.

"Jesus effing Christ, O'Connell, watch where you stand…!"

Daniels' voice trailed away as he stopped to listen to something, tilting his head comically to one side.

"What do you –?"

"Shh!"

The five fell silent, but all they could hear where the disturbing croaks of the thousands of frogs. Beni frowned, and stated in his Hungarian accent, "I do not hear anything –"

"_Shh!_"

Little tremors shook the ground. Shining the flickering torch around the corridor, a high-pitched whining, almost chatter, reached their ears. Rachael could barely hear the noise past her pounding heartbeat, but she could see through the dim light where the source was. The five stared in horror as a small hill boiled up from the sand.

_Run, run, get the hell out of here! Just run!_

Her body would not obey her terrified mind. It was almost as if her feet were cemented to the ground, her wrists shackled to her frozen companions.

Then –

"SCARABS! SCARABS!"

It was Henderson.

Had the situation not been so dire, Rachael was sure she would have laughed at his girl-like squeal.

But the situation _was_ that dire, and his screech of terror was only too correct.

Tens of hundreds of thousands of scarabs, scurrying towards them, mingling with the frogs that littered the sandy floor –

_Run, run, run –_

Finally, she screamed what her mind was ordering.

And finally, her feet obeyed.

* * *

"RUN, YOU SONAFABITCH, RUN –!" Henderson screamed, seemingly randomly, as the five and a couple of diggers erupted onto some sort of bridge.

_Five?_

Her eyes swept the small group and then behind her.

Three, including her.

Panic crashed into Rachael like a wave, making her feel like the breath was knocked out of her. She was the last in the line, and would soon lose the others if she didn't keep up.

_Oh god oh god oh god –_

There was no other thought on her mind. Blindly, she continued to run after the Americans and the diggers, only to be jolted into a halt as a hand wrapped around her elbow. She yelped.

"Let me go –"

"Rachael, please, I need your help, it's Evy, she's –"

She blinked and her eyes cleared, and Jonathan's sweaty, fearful face swum into view.

"– She fell through a trap door or something, you have to help me find her, _please_ –"

She shook her head stupidly and tried to pry her arm out of his vice-like grip. "No, we need to get out of here – the scarabs –"

"You promised!" he snarled.

Rachael froze. "What?" she asked, her fear slowly melding in with confusion.

"You promised!" he repeated, his boyish face plagued with fury. "You promised you'd get us back to Cairo! When you ditched us for the Americans, you said –"

– _I'll still get you back to Cairo safely._

She stared into his flushed face, unsure of what to say. She valued her life far more than she valued whatever promise she gave to the girl and the man whom she had spent more than one night with.

Didn't she?

But Rachael didn't have time to answer. The eerie chatter and scurrying sound echoed around the chasm from behind her, and the group she was with was long gone, out of sight and hearing range. Tearing her gaze from Jonathan's, she wildly stared down the corridor.

_SCARABS – RUN, YOU IDIOT, RUN – DON'T JUST STAND THERE, GET OUT, GET OUT –!_

Her feet moved, and she grabbed Jonathan's hand and tugged, but he wouldn't move.

"_What about Evy –?"_

"We can't find her if we're dead!" Rachael screamed.

Together, they fled.

* * *

Evelyn Carnahan did not believe in the supernatural. Foolish stories, she believed, to frighten those of weak minds. The sort of thing uneducated people liked to talk about. She would only believe something was real if she could see it and touch it.

But staring into the bloodshot eyes of a decomposing talking walking mummy was enough to convert her in that instant.

Granted, she could only see it, and she didn't like the thought of touching it to confirm.

It took a step towards her.

She took a step away – and her back collided with the cold wall of the chamber.

She started to tremble. The Bembridge Scholars didn't mention anything about things like this.

Eyes wide and frightened, she glanced over at the eyeless, tongueless Mister Burns. "H-help me, please…" she whispered, feeling foolish for even trying to ask for help from the man. In response, Burns gurgled and moaned, and fell to his knees, clutching his face.

"_KADEESH PHAROS ANCK-SU-NAMUN."_

She yelped. The deep, grating voice – cruel, yet at the same time almost inquisitive, made her press her back against the wall further, as if some part of her was trying to find safety with it. The exotic ancient language didn't translate in her head – too terrified, she could barely think.

_I'm just a librarian, I'm just a librarian –_

No weapons, no ideas, no nothing. Just the cold wall and a dumb, blind American to protect her from a two thousand year old mummy.

A hand gripped her elbow with such force Evelyn felt for sure was going to bruise. A scream of terror froze in her throat as a female voice invaded what was becoming a staring competition between her and the corpse.

"Evelyn, we need to get out of h- WOAH!"

It was Miss O'Connell. Relief flooded in and started to wash away the terror – until she realised that Miss O'Connell was now staring at the corpse.

Its bloodshot eyes swivelled to stare at the newcomer, and its rotted lips parted, a fresh tongue lapping against the brown decay of two-thousand year old teeth.

It roared.

Jonathan yelled in shock –

_Jonathan?!_

She reached out for her brother, not caring when or how he found her. "Jonathan –"

A gun went off and Evelyn screamed, covering her ears and ducking her head from pure reflex. Out the corner of her eye, she saw the corpse stumble backwards, bits of its fetid, decomposing chest flying off.

And before she knew it, she was being hauled away by two strong hands, working together in perfect, trusting synch.

* * *

_Ohmygodohmygodohmygod –_

She didn't care that she was slaughtering the Third Commandment again. She didn't care for the wind-blown sand that stung her face as she, Jonathan and the girl burst out of the crevice into cool, fresh air, thankfully locust-free. She didn't care that she had just seen a walking talking corpse – all that mattered was that she was out, and safe.

What she _did_ care about was the fact that she was now facing at least twenty rifles and scimitars belonging to twenty tattooed, angry-looking nomads, and that Henderson, Daniels, Chamberlain, and the remaining diggers were on their knees in the sand and their hands on their heads.

Rachael O'Connell swore.

One man stepped forwards from the group – the handsome one. Ardeth. His dark eyes blazed in anger. "I told you to leave or die," he spoke, his accented voice low. "You refused, and now you may have killed us all."

His eyes swept the three.

"Which one of you read from the Book?"

Rachael's eyes travelled over to the trembling girl between herself and Jonathan. Evelyn's downcast eyes were enough to tell the warrior of her guilt.

"You have doomed us all, for you have unleased the Creature whom we have feared for more than two thousand years."

There was a hint of aggression – possibly fear – in his voice, but he was trying desperately hard to remain as calm as he could. Passive aggression – which was probably more frightening than him actually screaming, Rachael thought. She stood up straight. "That walking corpse?" she asked, sounding braver than she felt. "I shot it. Relax."

"No mortal weapons can kill this creature! He is not of this world!"

"Ardeth –"

A heavily accented voice joined them. Everyone turned to the origin of the voice – it was Anzar, the man Rachael had held a pistol to and threatened to kill, supporting Burns.

Rachael recoiled, even though she was nowhere near the man. Staring with vacant eye sockets and gurgling, Anzar gently lowered him to the ground.

"You bastards!"

"What did you do to him?"

Henderson and Daniels, equally horrified and furious. They were by their friend's side a mere second, holding him up and glaring at the warriors. Anzar glared back at them. "I saved him," he said. "Saved him before the Creature could finish its work!"

"Now leave," Ardeth added, "all of you, before he finishes you all!"

He gestured behind him and the tattooed warriors let their weapons fall away, turning to mount their horses.

"You – you're not going to kill us?" Jonathan asked stupidly.

Evelyn jerked her elbow into his ribs.

Anzar shook his head, coming over to the three. "No. But you must leave." He locked eyes with Evelyn. "Especially you, for it was you who read from the Book."

His tone was not accusing but the intention was. Evelyn's eyes flashed, and her previous fear seemed to disappear. Rachael watched as she stood up straight and placed her hands on her hips haughtily and looking intimidating even though she was considerably shorter than the man.

"Well, I didn't know that reading from some book was going to make a – a – a two thousand year old mummy come back to life, did I?" she exclaimed, her cheeks tinged with pink from embarrassment. "It's not written down anywhere, and – and – it was just plain foolish of you people to never tell anyone the danger! If you'd known what could have happened then why didn't you take the Book for yourself so that no-one would read from it?"

The girl had a very valid point, Rachael thought, her eyebrows raised in light admiration. Anzar eyed the girl – woman, Rachael supposed for the first time – coolly, and turned away. "Arrogance," he muttered.

"Arrogance?" Evelyn exclaimed. "Excuse me! I am not arrogant –"

"No?" Anzar furiously interrupted. "You may try to deny it all you want, but the fact remains that all that you have learnt about Egypt is from the biased, arrogant teachings of conceited 'scholars' who believe themselves superior to the natural inhabitants of this land who have carried the true knowledge of Egypt's secrets, generation to generation!" He stepped in close to Evelyn. "You claim that we never told anyone the danger? We tried. But did your people believe in the 'folk tales' and 'curses' in our history, when we told them? They laughed, Miss…"

He trailed off.

"Carnahan," Evelyn supplied feebly.

"Miss Carnahan. They did not even stop to think for a moment that perhaps the stories were true. Because they believed themselves above such 'foolishness', above the supernatural – because they were not easily frightened, because they didn't have weak minds like the natives. Because people like you believed that such tales were for the natives, the non-European – the peasants, the commoners. The _uneducated_, if you will."

Evelyn visibly winced, his words striking true. His voice lowered.

"Because they could not see it, and could not touch it. Therefore it was not real. You say you are not arrogant, Miss Carnahan? Perhaps you should reconsider before you accuse us of not warning everyone of the danger."

The silence stretched out, and Anzar turned away.

Jonathan touched Evelyn's shoulder. "Evy?"

She refused to meet his concerned gaze. "It's fine, Jonathan."

She spoke meekly. Rachael knew Anzar's biting but truthful words had cut deep, shattering everything Evelyn knew and believed in.

_You don't believe in curses, huh?_

_No, I don't. I believe if I can see it and I can touch it then it's real. That's what believe._

From a distance, she heard Ardeth speak to the Americans. "We must hunt him down, and try to find a way to kill him before he consumes the earth. Allah be with us."

The warriors, on their horses, started to leave.

"Can – can we do anything?" Evelyn spoke.

Anzar ignored her, but Ardeth looked back, and shook his head gravely. "There is nothing. But know this: the Creature will be coming for you. All of you. He must consummate the curse, and until he does, he will never eat, he will never sleep, and he will never stop."

He left swiftly, and his daunting words played over and over again in Rachael's mind like a broken jukebox.

_The Creature will be coming for you. All of you._

_He must consummate the curse._

_The curse_…


End file.
